


Sacrifices

by Raven_Knight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Harry Potter, Don't copy to another site, Drama, F/M, Gen, Guardian Snape, Harry Grows Up in the Wizarding World, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Snape, severus raises harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-07-31
Updated: 2009-08-05
Packaged: 2020-01-13 11:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Knight/pseuds/Raven_Knight
Summary: Harry Potter goes missing less than a day after being dropped on the doorstep of the Dursley home. One person must determine who his friends and enemies are as he protects the boy under the Headmaster's watch. Unusual favors are called in, unlikely friendships develop, and the shadow of betrayal grows darker...(Chapters 1-28 written before September 2010.)





	1. Prologue; Chapter 1: Of Unknown Locations

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This piece, archived at Archive of Our Own (Ao3), Potions & Snitches, and fanfiction.net, is purely a non-commercial work of fiction from which I am not profiting in any way. This work may not be reproduced, archived, or redistributed by any means and/or in any format without prior written permission from me. Permission may be obtained by contacting me at r4v3n.kn1ght@gmail.com.
> 
> I started writing this fic over ten years ago, planing it out and outlining it in its entirety during 2008, long before joining AO3. I had posted it elsewhere and after coming here just kept forgetting to move it onto this Archive. That day has come! Forgive my early writing style in chapters 1-36. I like to hope my writing has improved since then. However, please enjoy this fic of mine from the Harry Potter universe. I am determined to finish this one next. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think of it as we go! ~ RK 
> 
> In this chapter: A wizard questions himself, and another questions some Muggles...  
> (Originally published 31 July 2009)

**Sacrifices**  
**By**  
**Raven Knight**

**Prologue**

The ghostly man traveled with urgency away from the doorstep, a question haunting his conscience with every passing instant: "Have I done the right thing?"

The wind of the very early morning hour twisted his dark locks in a manner similar to the rage of a scorned lover.  His long hair retaliated against the wind only resulting in whipping against his pale skin leaving a lingering sting.  His clothing danced in the violent air as he continued away, blending in with the night.  The only part clearly visible of the man was one hand gripping a smooth, wooden handle so tightly that it was difficult to see if he were desperately afraid to release it or if it were in fact the true tone of his skin.  Once any observer could see his face, if they dared leave the comfort of a warm bed that cold night, it was noticeable that his face was pale, his features were as pronounced as the agony of his emotions.  His dark eyes were dark as night reflected in a tormented lake. 

He drew back the breast of his outer clothing to look beneath the heavy cloth.  It was in that instant that the first of the sky's tears struck him allowing his own to release.  His tears raced down his angular face at the same frantic pace as his flight to shelter.  He clutched the fabric around the priceless treasure cradled against his chest, shielding it securely against the wind's sting, the night's cold, and the rain's grief.

At last he saw the house, looking ominous in its shadowy silhouette, the pale beginnings of morning behind it.  He descended upon the house like a raven, gracefully and silently.  Still shielding his treasure he entered the dark house, disappearing from the sight of the horrible night, and from any prying or curious eyes.

Later, as he fell into his nightmares he repeated in his mind a final time: "Have I done the right thing?"

 

         **Chapter One - Of Unknown Locations**

It was a dreary morning, even by the lowest standards.  A blanket of dark grey clouds smothered the sunlight, making it seem closer to twilight than mid-morning.  It was even rare to hear the song of a bird breaking the gloom of that morning.  There was no breeze and thus, consequently, no applause from the fallen leaves or baring branches.  Not only was it silent and dark, but it was cold.  It was November the second and the stagnant air chilled the person who left the warmth of their home.  If the men decided they could not delay their morning commute any longer, they braved the unexpected chill to their cars and drove to work. 

Such was the case for one such household in a uniform neighborhood. 

A small family was in their dining room having just finished their breakfast.  The man of the family stubbornly delayed his morning drive to work as he alternated between shifting his now cold eggs across his plate and pretending to read the newspaper.  He was dressed for work with the exception of his blazer which was draped over the back of his chair.  He was clothed in a white, long sleeved button down shirt with a properly fashioned brown necktie.  At the insistence of his wife, he had donned his new knit argyle pull on vest.  To his dismay, the colors of the vest were maroon, black, and a dark purple that resembled the hue of his face when his temper flared.  He also wore brown trousers and shoes that matched his necktie. 

The man was not a rotund man, or even overweight by any means.  He was simply of a large bone structure that was in good health, coloring, and a moderate living style.  His sandy-colored hair was parted neatly and fixed to keep it in place.  His moustache was carefully trimmed and well kept resembling a horse grooming brush.

Finally, he folded up his newspaper and set it on the table near his plate of rearranged breakfast.  In an instant, his wife leaped from her chair between her husband and child, snatching his plate and setting.  She disposed of the remaining food and returned primly to her chair. 

She was a thin woman, not particularly pretty and not particularly homely either.  She was a mixture of the two extremes with some of her features balancing out her unappealing qualities.  She was very conscious of her dress and appearance, more so than even a child who carefully dresses her dolls.  She wore a simple lilac dress with short puffy sleeves.  The skirt went down to her knees, exposing her stocking-clad legs and white heels.  On top of her dress was an obnoxiously ruffled apron, giving the appearance of a chicken fluffing their feathers out in order to look fuller and more attractive for her mate. 

At last, the man rose from his chair.  He turned and picked up his blazer, slid his arms through and fastened the buttons.  He walked to his wife, who had risen from her chair as he stood. 

"Have a good day at work, dear," she said, in a cheery voice.  The same thing every single morning of the work week.  He took hold of his wife's shoulders and leaned into her, touching his lips to her cheek, like every morning.  They separated and he turned to face his gurgling son who had his food smeared all over himself.  The young child smiled at his approaching father, baring his very few teeth proudly.  He reached his arms to the man squealing loudly. 

"And now, be a good boy for mummy!"  He caught himself before risking a hug to his son, which would inevitably result in getting the food currently all over the boy all over himself in the process.  Instead, he merely patted his son's fuzzy head, who smiled back at him in a lopsided grin. 

He walked out of the kitchen toward the front door, stooping down at the foot of the stairs to grab his briefcase.  At the very moment his hand closed around the doorknob there were three firm knocks from the other side of the door.  The man froze before cautiously opening the door.  The sight that greeted him made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand in alarm. 

On his pristine doorstep was a very weird looking man.  He had pale but healthy skin with a rosy coloring to his cheeks.  His eyes held captive a bright twinkle, a cheerful glitter like the sun reflecting on the bluest sea.  Upon his crooked nose rested a pair of half-moon spectacles.  That object first raised the alarm to the opposite man.  As he eyed him further his eyes grew rounder, his moustache began to bristle, and his body began to tremble - whether from fear or anger the man outside the house could not tell.  The man on the doorstep was dressed in what looked like a giant and strategically arranged piece of drapery that was so long that his shoes were not even visible.  On his head was what looked to be a long and ancient sleeping cap.  But the most alarming feature of the man was his long, straggly white beard. 

After several moments of speechless tension, a soft, frail voice was heard in inquiry.  "Mr. Dursley?" 

It was the voice of the stranger!  How could such a soft voice come from this...weird looking person?  Shouldn't they also have weird voices to match their weird looks?  The man inside the house could not fathom this.  He nodded, unable yet to find his own voice.  Who was this person on his doorstep?  What in the world did he want?  In his inability to figure out the answers to any of these questions, he simply stared at the other man. 

The bearded man stepped calmly and seriously over the threshold of the house.  "I suppose I should come in, before the neighbors notice this rather tense meeting on your doorstep."  He walked calmly into the foyer of the house, right past Mr. Dursley, before realizing the man was not following him and turning to face him again. 

Mr. Dursley, meanwhile, was beginning to turn a frightening shade of red.  How dare this person march right into his house!  Who does he think he is?  His moustache began to twitch in offense, his hand tightened on his briefcase.  With a quick exhaling huff, he slammed the door shut before walking right up to this stranger.  "Now, listen, you-"

"Oh, forgive me, Mr. Dursley.  I am Albus Dumbledore."  The old man held out his hand, but Mr. Dursley was not about to touch the man if he could help it.  Awkwardly, the older man lowered his hand after a moment.  "I simply came to check on young Harry.  Is he doing well?"

Mr. Dursley sputtered for a moment, trying to understand what this man was saying.  When he next spoke, spit caught in his bristling moustache.  "Who in the bloody hell is Harry?"

Dumbledore's eyes instantly lost their twinkle.  Before he could answer, a woman's voice joined the conversation.  "Vernon?  Who is this?"

"He says his name's Albus Dumbledore.  Crackpot, he is, Petunia!" 

Dumbledore turned his back to Mr. Dursley and instead now faced the young woman now in the doorway to the kitchen.  She was holding her now clean son in her arms, supporting his weight with her hips.  "Mrs. Dursley, how is young Harry doing?"

"Harry?"

"Harry Potter."

"My sister's son?"  Her expression, where it was curious moments ago, became twisted in confusion and resentment.  "Why should I know about her son?" she asked, spitting out the words as though poison. 

"Because he was left here last night.  On your doorstep."  Dumbledore's eyes were narrowing and his posture now tense.  His eyes bore into the woman, clutching her son to her now in anger and fear of this unusual man. 

"There was no one left here," Mr. Dursley said, trying to take the man's focus off of his wife and son. 

Dumbledore turned to him then.  "Late last night your nephew, Harry Potter, was left at your door with a note explaining what had happened and the circumstances to his being at your home.  The importance of taking him into your care was explicitly expressed."  He looked closely at the two adults before continuing.  "It is of utmost importance.  Where is Harry Potter?"

"How should we know?" Petunia all but shrieked.  Her son began to wail in her arms, causing her to suddenly retreat into the dining room again.  She placed him back in his high chair and tried to soothe the child.  Unfortunately, she did not see that the old man had followed her to the doorway of the dining room, looking at her intently.  He successfully blocked the entrance from her husband.  She turned around and jumped at seeing the old man blocking her way. 

"He must be found, Petunia," the old man said, in a low voice. 

Her face hardened, her expression stony, her eyes dark.  She turned back to the table and began to occupy herself with the dirty dishes.  "And why aren't his...parents looking for him? Why do I need to do it?"

Dumbledore's face softened.  If they did not read the note, then she did not yet know.  "Lily and James were killed two nights ago."  He continued even after Petunia dropped one of the plates, and knelt to pick up the pieces, her back still facing him.  "You are Harry's only relative.  There was nowhere else for him to go." 

Petunia, still on her knees, whispered in a stilted voice, "And...how did they die?"  Before the old man could respond, Mr. Dursley managed to speak loud enough to get her attention.  She rose to her feet before heading towards Dumbledore, muttering an "excuse me" as she passed him.  She met her husband in the hallway. 

"Go on, Vernon.  It's alright.  He means no harm here." 

Mr. Dursley examined his wife for a moment before seeing a strange shadow in her expression and a stiffness in her features.  "Are you alright?  You're pale as a ghost." 

"I'm fine."  Mr. Dursley huffed in disagreement of leaving this strange man in the house alone with his wife and his son, but he nodded and acquiesced to his wife's wish.  He kissed her cheek again, turned and strode out of the house. 

Petunia stood for a moment in the hallway, collecting herself.  She took several breaths before facing the doorway of the kitchen and dining room again.  With determined and heavy steps she entered the room, prepared to continue cleaning the ruined plate.  To her surprise, she found the old man putting a strange looking stick back into his sleeve.  She went to the place where the remnants of the plate were, only to find them gone.  She looked on the table, nothing.  Then, she looked in the sink.  There were three plates.  Three?  But one broke, how could there be three now?  She looked back at the old man and made a connection in her mind.  She knew what he was, but she did not need to ask him that.  There was something more important.  "How did...they die?"

The old man faced her, his expression kind.  "They were murdered.  By Lord Voldemort.  He was after your nephew that night, but never got there.  He killed James, then he went for Harry.  Your sister, Lily, was with him."  He paused here, in thought.  "Voldemort was about to kill her son, and she put herself in the path of the curse that was intended for Harry.  Because she gave her life for her son, she gave him protection.  Voldemort cursed Harry as well, but with Lily's protection, it rebounded and killed Voldemort."  He took a deep breath.  "Lily gave her son blood protection.  In order for this type of safety to remain intact, a relative must accept Harry into their care.  You are his only relative left, his aunt.  You can give him the protection he still needs from Voldemort's followers, who, no doubt, are trying to locate Harry to finish what their master started on Halloween." 

During this, Petunia sat herself in one of the dining room chairs, staring ahead.  She was completely confused.  Who was Voldemort?  Killed by a curse?  Blood Protection?  What did all of this mean?  She looked up at the man, her eyes slightly misty, her mouth barely open in confusion.  She looked up at Dumbledore, pleading for answers, answers she could understand.  "I don't understand."

Dumbledore sighed.  "Lily and James are dead.  You must take Harry in or he will also be killed by the followers of the...man...that killed your sister and her husband." 

"But I don't know where he is," she spoke in a voice barely a whisper.  She stared at the old man. 

"It seems that no one does, even though he was here only hours ago," he said, not exactly to her, and not exactly to himself.  He seemed lost in thought, as though trying to mentally figure out a puzzle.  After several minutes of silence, even from the young child, Dumbledore spoke again.  "When we find him again, will you take him in as your own?  Will you offer the protection Lily died to give?"

Petunia got to her feet and went to her own son, picking him up again.  She faced away from the old man then, and whispered her reply, "I don't know."  She let a choked sound escape her, a strangled sob.  She waited a moment before she turned around again, only to find that the man had disappeared.  He was there a moment ago, but he had disappeared silently.  Vanished, as though he were nothing more than smoke that blended in with the air around it.

* * *

It was several hours later that Mr. Dursley came home from Grunnings Drill Company.  He arrived to find the house silent.  In only a few moments he discovered his wife sitting in the parlor, a saucer in one hand and the cup of tea in the other.  She was staring ahead.  This alarmed Mr. Dursley, having never seen her like this.  "Petunia," he tried cautiously, "what happened?"

After a few moments, she shifted her eyes to her husband.  "Lily and James are dead." 

"Your sister?"  She nodded, looking away and slowly taking a sip of her tea.  "How?" he asked, his hand naturally moving to rest comfortingly on her bony shoulder. 

Petunia seemed to hesitate for a moment, before again meeting her husband's eyes.  "A car crash."


	2. Uncertainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Struggling through nightmares...to be guided by memories...  
> (Originally published 3 August 2009)

**Chapter Two - Uncertainty**  
  


He slept restlessly that night, lost in a nightmare…a nightmare that forced him to relive the horrifying events of the past few evenings.  His eyes moved frantically underneath the clenched lids.  His eyelashes fluttered as though in a delirious fever, matching the pounding pace of his heart.  His breathing came into his lungs as desperately as a drowning man vainly attempting to filter air from the water that surrounded him.  His skin was bathed in a cold, glistening sweat.  His restless body twisted and tangled the bed sheets tightly around his drenched form.  It was his mind, though, that fared the worst as it was lost in the horrors of his memories…of his nightmares. 

 

_The curses of a duel were not near them yet, though they were still clearly heard in the tiny hidden room of the house.  He paid them no mind as she grabbed his hand, his attention focused completely on her._

_“Take it!  Take it!” she choked, her voice raw with emotion.  Desperately, she opened his pale hand and into it pressed a glass bottle filled with a milky silvery substance.  She closed his hand around the bottle, but kept her hands gently, but firmly, around his own.  She entreated him with her glassy gaze, which he met, knowing it may be the last time he could look into her beautiful eyes.  Her eyes glistened with tears, and it was then that he realized that his own eyes were beginning to sting with the saltwater._

_He could only nod before reaching into his robes and producing a thin vial, no taller than the length of his index finger.  With his eyes still locked onto hers, trying to memorize them in these moments, he held it between them and spoke in a trembling voice, betraying his fear, “Take this.  This will protect you from everything.  Even Avada Kedavra.  Swear to me you will drink it!”_

_She hesitated.  Her eyes darted to the door for an instant, before he reached to cup her cheek drawing her attention back to him.  “Swear it!”_

_“It will be taken,” she replied, taking the vial from him.  He tucked her glass bottle into the heavy folds of his robes._

_From the front room, the shouted curses grew louder.  It only meant that the fight was coming closer to them.  She ran from the room, tearing her hands from the other man, reaching the doorway to their hiding place.  He followed her closely, directly behind her as she sprinted up the stairs, and into the second bedroom.  She immediately dashed to the cradle, where her son stood, holding onto the bars and grinning toothily at his mother.  She desperately reached for the child, lifted him from the crib, and clutched the boy to her bosom._

_He placed his hand on her shoulder and she looked up into his dark eyes.  Then, a murderous shrill voice screamed the Killing Curse, followed by the dull sound of a lifeless body falling to the floor.  Her eyes looked into his, now filled with terror.  The tears began streaming down her face, her arms around her son tightened._

_“Take it,” he urged her as gently as he could.  He forced down his tears.  He drew his wand, and took a deep breath as he prepared himself to duel.  His features hardened, his muscles tensed, his lips set in a firm line.  He began to turn towards the open door as the menacing, heavy steps of death began to approach them.  With a harsh flick of his wand, the door slammed closed, and the lock was drawn.  He heard the steps growing closer, his every thought on defeating the approaching monster._

_He heard his name whispered by her voice, constricted in obvious fear.  He turned to look upon her again, and he noticed the empty vial on the floor, carelessly dropped in favor of more important things.  Her eyes had cleared with determination, her grip on her son loosening.  Through the connection of the longing in her eyes, and the pain in his own they drifted closer together until their lips met, expressing everything that defined them.  Their heartbreak, their adoration, their regrets.  Everything._

_They separated and the steps were drawing ever closer.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking._

_“I know,” he said, his heart breaking.  He framed her face with his hands, one of which still clutched his wand.  His dark eyes found hers.   “I love you,” he reaffirmed, before he took her lips again, their tears combining into a single torrent of emotion.  As their kiss ended, he moved his lips against hers, breathing his eternal promise into her body, as though giving her his soul.  “Always.”_

_The footsteps were deafening now, and the shadowy distinction of someone on the other side of the door was visible.  Her eyes closed, as she held out her right hand and barely spoke the spell she must.  “Expello…” Suddenly, his feet were wrenched from beside hers, and in the back of his mind he heard the crash of glass shattering, as the door burst from its hinges and the darkest wizard of the age stood in the now destroyed doorway, laughing shrilly.  He saw her clenching her eyes, clutching her now crying son in her arms as she spun to face this monster.  He realized, in an instant of horror, that she had forced him through the window to protect him and there was nothing more he could do as he fell to the ground landing on his back still gazing up at the shattered window, paralyzed in helplessness and terror.  He could do nothing but listen._

_“Not Harry, not Harry, please, not Harry!”_

_“Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now.”_

_“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—”_

_“Stand aside – stand aside, girl—”_

_“Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, I’ll do anything—”_

_“This is my last warning—”_

_“Please…have mercy…have mercy—”_

_He could not hear her voice anymore, for it was drowned by the sound of shrill, cruel laughter.  His vision clouded as his tears intensified, and poured from his dark eyes.  His mouth was open in a silent scream of despair as the room above suddenly exploded in green light and the chilling sound of a woman’s scream and a monster’s laugh.  His world turned dark as his eyes closed in desperate denial of the feminine voice abruptly cut off by Death._

His eyes snapped open as his body jerked uncontrollably on the bed.  His trapped hands frantically struggled free of the sheets in which his entire body was tangled.  His long black locks dripped with sweat from his restless nightmares.  His breathing was as harsh as in sleep, though he put much effort into regaining a normal rhythm.  He found himself sitting up in his cold bed, the deep maroon hangings no longer offering the comfort they once had.  His eyes drifted to look out the window.  It was still raining.  Once again, the sky matched his inner turmoil. 

How often must he watch the events of that night?  Was not experiencing it once enough?  Why must it repeat endlessly every time he closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep peacefully?  When he would usually have the answers to every question he deemed worth contemplation, he found himself unknowing and without anyone or anything to turn to for the answers to his questions. 

He untangled his legs and swung them around so that his bare feet could rest on the frigid floorboards of his room.  Once more looking outside at the gloomy weather, his throat released a tortured sob before his body deflated, his hands only managing to catch his head and hold it as he gasped and drew quick, short breaths.  He could not focus on anything, but his pain.  He closed his eyes and saw hers, a painful reminder of something that he will never see in life again. 

Suddenly, as though remembering the delicate situation he now found himself in, he got to his feet abruptly.  He went straight to the window, opened it, and reached outside to the shutter latches.  Efficiently and quickly, he firmly closed them, bolted them, and closed the window itself.  He then went through every room in his home and repeated the sequence with every single window.  Soon, the entire house was cloaked in darkness.  All that was heard was his harsh breathing. 

He stopped breathing for a moment when he realized a careless mistake in his urgency to close all of the windows.  He did not have his wand with him!  Nearing panic, he raced through the darkened house until he came back to his bed where he thrust his hand underneath his thinning pillow and recovered his wand.  He brought the tip to eyelevel and softly spoke a single word.  “Lumos.”  The tip of the wand began to gently pulse in a soft pale blue-white glow.  He looked around his room, noticing the things thrown haphazardly about in his hysteria of the last several days.  His eyes took everything in, every piece of clothing, every smashed picture frame, every picture that still moved, even with the broken glass on top of it, everything.  The shattered remains of everything his life was.

Then, he began to walk as though in a daze throughout his house, as silent as a practiced ghost, but as carefully as a predator approaching his first meal in days.  He walked down the hallway slowly, guided by the soft light of his wand towards a room he had not used in many years – his childhood room.  He had left the door ajar, in order to know of any disturbances.  As he neared the door he heard the quiet sounds of sniffling.  He slowly urged the door open enough to admit him.  In a whisper he spoke, “Nox.”  Immediately, his wand’s gentle light was extinguished.  But the room was not dark.  Another glow was present.  It came from the dark ledge of the bolted window. It was a stone streaked in different shades of green, a malachite stone, enchanted to give off a soft, comforting glow.  It was an improvement to the Muggle nightlight.  It bathed the area around the stone in its soft light, through which was transmitted the energies of the stone.  He remembered his mother had placed this in his room long ago, and it was never removed from the windowsill.  And there it remained, always soothing, always guarding dreams. 

He glided softly closer to the old, battered cradle in the sparsely furnished room.  His dark eyes focused intently on it, seeing the restless shuffling of the tiny body inside.  A soft whimper began, startling the man into stillness.  He listened as the child’s movement grew more agitated and his whimpers evolved into quiet cries.  In only a few moments, the quiet cries became heartbreaking sobs, with an occasional coughing sound in between them.  It was the coughing that spurred the young man into action.  He crossed the distance to the cradle and peered inside, seeing the child tossing on the bedding, the small red, blue, and tan woolen blanket tangled around his tiny legs.  The miniature face, features rounded in youth, contorted in restless sleep.  The eyes pinched tightly together, the nose scrunched in distaste, and the plump little lips grimaced only to open to release the choked coughs or the saddening sobs. 

The young man hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.  He looked at his wand in thought as the child’s fussing increased in intensity.  Should he use a spell?  He angled his dark wand towards the child and his eyes caught what he noticed previously – the gruesome lightning bolt scar.  A reminder of a curse on the forehead of this child.  Would he be feared by this child if he were to aim a spell directly at him?  He did not want to know that answer.  He lowered his wand, then, trying to think as the child’s sounds finally erupted into bloodcurdling screams. 

Instantly, the young man reacted, placing his wand on the window ledge beside the glowing malachite stone.  He reached down into the cradle and lifted the squirming, screaming child from it and into his arms.  He had only ever held a young child less than the number counted on his fingers.  And it was in his apprenticeship when he was required to learn healing before being granted the title of his profession.  He felt awkward, ignorant to the needs of this child.  He pressed the boy close to his chest, with one arm supporting the lower body and the other wrapped across the child’s back, his long hands raked into the black hair on the tiny head.  The boy continued to scream, though it was slightly muffled by his shirt and chest.  His mind at a loss, he rested his cheek against the boy’s hair next to his own hand.  His eyes grew troubled as he was unable to think of anything to do that would soothe this boy.  Desperately, he searched his own memories for anything that would remind him of the things his mother had done when he would come to her weeping.  But he could not recollect.  His mind was still consumed with his most recent horror, and could not think back to his childhood horrors. 

Without awareness, he began walking.  He did not know to where.  He wandered into the hallway carrying the screaming boy he continued to press against him.  He walked as though in a trance, unaware of his destination only knowing he would reach it.  He came to a doorway at the other end of the hall.  Using his shoulder to push it open he admitted himself and his charge.  He found himself gazing upon a white stone basin that glowed pure.  His eyes fastened on it, and his feet drew him closer as though hypnotized, subconsciously wondering if he could find the answers there.  He looked down into the swirling depths of the basin, seeing the streams of the milky, silvery substance flash images at him.  All of them were her.  A swirl of vibrant hair, the gentle breeze as her veil danced, her arguing with a dark-haired man, crumbled on a bed furiously wiping away tears, holding a piece of parchment as she spoke an incantation causing it to turn blood red in her hands, clutching a child to her body, her smile, her eyes.  The images continued and when he saw one in which she approached a crying child, he thrust his face into the basin’s contents and felt himself pulled into the image, the boy he held against him accompanying him. 

 

_She walked quickly to the crying child, who sat miserably in his restrictive high chair.  He pounded his little hands upon the tray in front of him as he wailed for his mother.  She picked him up and began to gently rub the child’s back.  She caught sight of the other person in room.  He was a young man with untamed hair that stuck up in all directions, and glasses perched on his nose.  He had several pieces of parchment scattered about the table at which he sat, with a quill in one hand, and a grip on his cup of tea with the other.  His wand lay on the table in easy reach for him, but farthest away from the child’s high chair.  She glared at him as she reprimanded in a sweet voice, “You were right here.  Couldn’t you handle it?”_

_“You’re doing fine, now, darling.”_

_“Don’t ‘darling’ me!”  Whatever else she was about to say was cut off by a particularly loud scream from the boy in her arms._

_The young man looked at her now.  “Maybe he’s still screaming because you aren’t acting much better.”_

_With a hard glare, she angrily turned around and left the room.  She walked to the stairs and walked up to the nursery that she and her husband chose even before they had planned on children.  She opened the door roughly, causing the child in her arms to begin weeping even louder than a moment ago.  Her eyes searched the room, realizing that the item she needed was not there.  With a roll of her eyes, she left the nursery and walked angrily across the hallway and into her bedroom.  Immediately, she saw what she needed.  With her semi-free hand she picked up her wand.  Without hesitation, she left the bedroom and went back across the hallway into the nursery._

_She slowly lowered herself onto the floor.  As she went to settle her son into her lap, she realized that his little hand was firmly grasping a large chunk of her fiery hair.  “Let go,” she urged.  The boy’s tears continued, but his screams had somewhat lessened to mild cries.  She soon coaxed him to release her hair and then she arranged him to sit in her lap comfortably._

_Her eyes scanned the room again.  She found this item much quicker.  “Wingardium leviosa,” she whispered, simultaneously pointing her wand at the stuffed animal across the room.  Slowly, the stuffed white swan rose from its place on the mounted wall shelf.  With jerking movements of her wand she made it seem like it was flying rather than merely drifting towards them.  She made it rise and fall as if it were flapping its wings to get higher._

_Her son was still crying, but he did not notice the swan yet.  She continued the motions of her wand as she lowered her head to her son’s ear and whispered, “Honey, look.  Look at the swan.  She’s coming to you. See?”_

_He shook his head furiously.  “No, i’s not,” he miserably mumbled._

_“Yes, it is, honey.  See?  Look up.”  By now, she had managed to drift the swan within her arm length away from them._

_The boy looked up finally, hoping to find his mother was telling the truth.  What he saw silenced his cries at once.  He saw the swan coming closer.  It bounced gracefully in the air as it continued its journey to them.  Even though his face was still streaked with tears, and his nose still sniffled, a smile began to spread across his face.  “Swan!” he cried.  His eyes began to dry and his smile grew._

_“Yes, a swan.  Here she comes,” his mother said, encouragingly._

_He threw his arms out towards the swan.  He could almost get it.  If it came just a bit closer…With a teasing jerk of her wand, the woman made the swan go too high for the boy to reach.  Just as her son looked up at her with an irritated scowl, he felt the fluffiness of his swan nuzzling against his neck.  His head whipped around and he smiled again, throwing his arms around the small stuffed animal and squeezing it tight.  It tried to wiggle free but the softness tickled his nose, causing the innocent laughter to pour happily from his mouth._

_“You’re good with him,” said a voice from the doorway._

_She turned her gaze from her happily giggling son to the young man in the doorway, who was leaning on the doorjamb, grinning with a veiled expression.  She urged her son from her lap before standing to face the man.  “I guess it’s come with practice handling his father all these years.”  He offered a crooked smile, the left side of his mouth curling upwards.  He looked in the boy’s direction.  She followed his gaze to watch as the boy crawled throughout the room taking the swan for a walk.  “You should play with him sometimes.”_

_“I know,” he replied, as though he wanted to say more but restrained himself._

_They continued to watch the child as he managed to cross the room to his other favorite toy – a ragged teddy bear.  It was not nearly as glamorous as the swan in his hand.  The boy struggled before managing to seat himself in order to grab onto the bear.  He had learned from previously experience that trying to grab something while having your other hand occupied and raised while crawling would only end with one’s face embedded in the floor.  The boy held the two animals in either hand and studied them for a moment.  He turned his head to look at the two adults in the doorway.  He held up the swan and exclaimed proudly, “Mummy swan!”  He held up the ragged bear and happily shouted, “Daddy bear!”  He smiled at the adults as he hugged the two animals to his chest._

_“That’s right, little man.  Daddy’s bear,” said the man, still with his lopsided grin._

_The little boy looked at them both and giggled happily, a beautiful sound to any parent._

The young man emerged from the contents of the basin, still with the screaming child in his arms.  He now knew what he had to do.  He left the room and walked into the room he had designated for the child’s use.  He walked directly over to the windowsill and took hold of his wand.  He gently waved it as it spoke the phrase, “Accio bear.”  He heard a soft rustling from the boxes he had deposited near the bed against the far wall.  Suddenly, he saw the torn ear of a teddy bear struggling free of everything else in the box.  It burst from the box and sailed in a direct line to the waiting hand, already holding his wand.  The bear was small and settled easily into his hand.  He walked to the window and put his wand again on the window ledge.  The boy in his arms continued screaming, even when he tried the woman’s method of snuggling the animal to his neck.  He began to get frustrated, and he felt a headache arriving.  Why did the child not respond to this? 

“Look,” he said to the child.  “It’s Daddy’s bear.”  The child looked at the bear for a moment, before hiding his tear streaked face in the man’s shoulder, still crying.  “For the love of Merlin,” the young man swore under his breath.  “What will make you happy?”  Whether the boy understood him or it were coincidence, the child furiously shook his head against him.  He sighed.  He did not know what else to do.  He saw her give him the stuffed animal…but not _that_ stuffed animal.  Suddenly, things began to make sense to him.  Who did he turn to when he cried?  His mother.  Who did he go to for advice in his youth?  His mother.  With that thought as a guide he was motivated to action again. 

He coaxed the screaming child to let go of his clothes and he put him back in the cradle.  He threw the old teddy bear to the floorboards in the direction of the bed.  He knew now that the child would ask for it when he wanted it.  But right now, he needed something else, he needed the comfort of his mother, even if it were only in associating it with the stuffed animal with which she gave to him to play.  He picked up his wand again, and it was when one particularly piercing scream reached his tired ears did he finally shout.  “Be silent, boy!”  The boy instantly silenced, shocked from the raised voice of the man.  The young man also froze where he stood, his wand in his hand half raised.  Their eyes met for the second time in their acquaintance.  The boy reached his arm through the bars of the cradle towards him.  The dark eyes of the adult shifted to the pleading arm. 

“S-s-s…wan?” the child whispered, softly, his voice raw from screaming. 

The man shifted his eyes again towards the box, the thrown teddy bear rested near it as though crumbled from despair.  Hanging over the lip of the box was the stuffed swan, as though looking down upon the crumbled form of the ragged bear.  He looked upon it and thought of how fitting it was.  His lips curled in a bittersweet expression and his eyes began to moisten.  He raised his wand towards the swan and brokenly whispered, “Wingardium leviosa.”  The swan rose, still staring upon the crumbled bear, ascending away from the other animal.  She left him behind on the floorboards as she gracefully flew across the room. 

The young man shifted and turned as he directed the flight of the swan to the boy who stood waiting for it in his cradle.  His green eyes watched it as it met his eyelevel on the other side of the bars.  The man angled the tip of his wand up, causing the swan to rise above and over the cradle bars, hovering it a moment above the boy’s head.  The child whispered to it in a voice so soft it was nearly indiscernible.  “Mummy swan?”  The swan drifted peacefully down into the arms of the boy who held them high in a promise to catch her.  The child hugged her to him, his grip tight, refusing to release her.  He sat back down in the cradle, nuzzling the swan tenderly. 

“Yes,” the young man whispered, more to himself than the child.  “Mummy’s swan.”  He looked upon the abandoned teddy bear by the box, then back at the boy.  He walked to the cradle and peered down into it, seeing clearly that the child still held the swan to him and had managed to lie down again.  He was trying to use his free hand to get his blanket to cover him again.  The man reached down and took hold of the blanket just as the boy got a grip on it.  Their hands met, and an instant later so did their eyes.  The drooping eyes of the boy looked up at the man before the green eyes closed and the little hand went lax in sleep.  The man drew the blanket up to the boy’s neck, tucking it around his little body carefully.  He breathed a sigh of relief when the child did not stir with his motions. 

He stood up straight again and gazed upon the sleeping child for a long while, before the glow of the malachite stone caught the corner of his eyes.  With a flick of his wand and a murmured incantation, he levitated the soothing stone and its glow directly over the cradle, leaving it to hover as a guardian star, hoping it would accomplish what it was meant to accomplish.  He recalled now his own mother doing the same with him as a young child.

He was about to leave the room and return to his own bed when he caught sight of the crumbled bear alone in the room.  He walked to it and crouched beside it, his long fingers stroking it reverently.  His eyes wandered to the cradle.  He stood again and walked to the sleeping boy.  He reached his hand to the boy, and placed the bear against the boy’s arm that held the swan.  The green eyes fluttered open and saw the bear.  His other hand took hold of it and kept a firm grip on the bear’s hand.  The child’s gaze flitted to meet the adult’s and sleepily he mumbled, “Daddy…” before he fell back to sleep. 

With a small smile, the young man whispered a reply, “That’s right, little man.  Daddy’s bear.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment on your way out! Thank you! ~ RK 
> 
> Chapter Notes: "Expello" - lit. translation: "To drive out, to eject, expel, force out, banish." This spell is used to push someone away from the caster with great force.
> 
> In case anyone wonders, I chose the stone nightlight color/type and stuffed animals of a swan and a bear for their symbolic meaning (as referenced in the book "Companion for the Apprentice Wizard" by Oberon Zell-Ravenheart), which are as follows: Green Malachite - Green is considered to be a very calming color, and the practice of bathing someone in a colour for its psychological/emotional qualities is known as chromatotherapy. Bear - healing, strength, family care; Swan - beauty, potential, grace. I found them fitting for the characters they represent in the chapter.


	3. Decisive News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this Chapter: One wizard confronts someone he trusts, and comes to a gut decision..  
> (Originally published 3 August 2009)

**Chapter Three - Decisive News**

 

There was nothing colorful about the small apartment.  It was monochromatic in varying shades of grey.  It was tidy, but looked as though it had seen better days.  Every piece of furniture bore deep scratches, every curtain was torn to some degree, and some floorboards stuck up around the edges of each plank.  To enhance the gloomy dwelling, nearly everything was covered in a thick layer of dust with the exception of things recently disturbed.  The only clue that anyone even lived in this place was the humble fire burning in the fireplace and the newspapers that littered the floor, all with recent dates.  The most recent of these papers covered the face of a body reclining in an exhausted heap on the sofa. 

He was a young man of thin figure and pallid skin.  Tufts of light brown hair stuck out from underneath the newspaper.  He wore clothing that was fast becoming threadbare with previous patches starting to come undone.  The edges of his jacket sleeves and the bottom of his trousers were frayed.  His shoes were what used to be worn dark brown leather, but now were scuffed and a faded tan color.  His hands were pallid and thin with traces of scars both pink and white.  His face was not seen due to the newspaper that covered it. 

The newspaper was dated 1 November 1981.  The picture just below the headline moved as though it were living, though two thirds of the people were no longer alive.  In the image was a smiling young couple - a man wearing glasses whose dark hair was untidy, and a woman with chest-length hair and almond-shaped eyes - with a young baby in the woman's arms.  The infant had a happy expression as his head tilted to look curiously at the camera then shift upward to look at his mother.  She smiled at the camera, and then looked down at her son, her smile never fading.  The young man's gaze alternated between the camera and shifting to the infant, his lips in a lopsided grin.  The headline read:

**HARRY POTTER, THE BOY-WHO-LIVED**

_Harry Potter, a mere 15 month old, is_  
_the only known survivor of the Killing_  
_Curse.  Parents, James and Lily Potter,_  
_were tragically murdered while defending_  
_their son from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._  
_The attack at Godric's Hollow left the Potter_  
_home mostly destroyed. Albus Dumbledore,_  
_Hogwarts Headmaster, had this to say."We_  
_all feel the loss of James and Lily Potter,_  
_but they would be pleased to know that_  
_every precaution will be taken to ensure_  
_Harry's safety."_  
  
_The funerals for the Potters will be..._

The peaceful crackling of the fireplace suddenly and abruptly flared, startling the sleeping man.  The fire had grown several feet in height and instead of burning orange it flamed green.  He stood quickly, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and drawing his wand, pointing it at the flames in alarm, his blue eyes alert and staring intently at the green fire.  It was only after a few seconds, though, that someone emerged from the flames.  He was a familiar person to the younger man, who lowered his wand with a sigh.  "Professor Dumbledore," he greeted him. 

Dumbledore roughly brushed the ashes from his robes.  His half-moon spectacles were slightly crooked on his nose, and his general appearance was in a small state of chaos, whether from anger or a rush to arrive in this shabby apartment the younger man did not know.  In the older wizard's hand was a folded newspaper.  There was a spark of temper in the older man's eyes as he took several large strides across the room to stand directly in front of the younger man.  He unfolded the newspaper and thrust it in the other man's direction with jerking movements.  "Remus, read this!  Do you know anything about this?"

The younger man, Remus, put his wand back in his inner jacket pocket before taking the newspaper.  Before he could even begin reading, the older wizard spoke again, this time a bit softer.  "I believe you know about James and Lily."  Remus nodded, lowering his head.  He had read the article many times over, and remained secluded in his apartment.  His blue eyes caught sight of a picture on the front page of the newspaper of the very man standing before him.  Dumbledore's likeness seemed to be standing in front of the ruined Potter house, making the statement mentioned in yesterday's paper.  Remus looked at the headline and proceeded to read the beginning of the article.

**DUMBLEDORE'S PRECAUTION?**

_Barely 24 hours after Harry Potter_  
_is orphaned, he is also missing!_  
_Yesterday, Albus Dumbledore,_  
_Hogwarts Headmaster, assured the_  
_public of the safety precautions to be_  
_taken in regard to Harry Potter. The_  
_whereabouts of the boy are unknown._  
_Professor Dumbledore cannot be reached..._

Remus was unable to read any further because Dumbledore interrupted.  "Do you have any idea where Harry could be?" 

Remus did not look at Dumbledore, preferring instead to look upon his likeness on the newspaper.  "I thought you took him to Lily's sister."

"I have just been in Little Whinging.  I spoke with Petunia."  Dumbledore began to pace in front of the fireplace, his footsteps quick and frantic.  His robes curled around his feet each time he turned around.  "Aside from not receiving Harry, she did not lay a hand on the note I left with him, explaining everything to her.  How the Potters died, the magic that Lily used to protect Harry, the Blood Magic, how important Harry is to our world.  Everything!"

Remus looked at the elder wizard but did not make eye contact.  "You did stay to be sure Petunia took Harry in, didn't you?" he asked, although he already suspected the answer.  His question stopped Dumbledore's pacing instantly, and before he had the chance to answer Remus' question, the younger man continued.  With a flaring temper he admonished, "You didn't.  What did you do, just leave him on the doorstep?  With all the information with him!  Anyone could have it and him, now!" 

"Do you know anywhere that he might be?"

Remus turned away, throwing the newspaper onto the floor landing among several others.  "I have not left my apartment for three days, now, Professor.  My news has come from  _The Daily Prophet_.  All I know is from what I've read." 

"You truly do not know?"  Remus heard Dumbledore's voice closer to him than before.  Remus shook his head, lowering it again as his shoulders tiredly slumped.  He felt a hand on his shoulder then as Dumbledore spoke.  "My boy, you know how important Harry is to us, now.  If you think of anything...anything at all, Remus, please let either Minerva or myself know."  Dumbledore sighed.  "I can only imagine what could be happening to him."

At that, Remus turned to face the Headmaster.  "And if any harm has come to him, you have no one to blame but yourself, Professor."  He fixed his eyes on the bridge of Dumbledore's nose, still refusing to directly meet his eyes.  He had once been warned of eye contact with Albus Dumbledore, and it was advice he intended to heed for many years to come. 

The older wizard looked for a long time at his former pupil before he lowered his gaze slightly.  "I must return to Hogwarts.  There are some things I must attend to.  School is still in session, as you know."  He turned and walked to the fireplace.  He looked around on the mantel until he found what he required.  His fingers reached into the tall, plain silver goblet and pinched some of the glittering powder inside of it.  He threw it into the orange fire and watched for a moment as the flames erupted into green light and grew several feet higher.  He shouted very clearly, "Headmaster Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts," before stepping into the fireplace and vanishing in a swirl of green flames.  

Remus was once again alone in his apartment.  He glanced back at the copy of  _The Daily Prophet_  with Dumbledore's moving picture on the front page.  Harry was missing?  How could Dumbledore lose him after only having him in his care for less than a day?  Was he just careless or did something truly sinister happen?  His mind was spinning.  Just a few days ago, James and Lily were alive and well enough.  Now, they were both dead and little Harry was missing!  The world was turned upside down by a single curse...and a secret that had not been kept hidden!

"Sirius!" Remus spat.  He went quickly to his fireplace and pinched some of the glittering powder from the goblet on his mantel, throwing it viciously into the flames.  They turned green and monstrous again.  With a voice he struggled to control, he shouted as clearly as he could, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!"  Then he stepped into the flames and he too disappeared from the shabby apartment in a swirl of green flames. 

* * *

Remus emerged from the fireplace into the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.  He brushed off the ashes from his clothing hurriedly before looking quickly around the room.  He saw that no one was in the kitchen and went directly to the doorway leading to the hallway.  He threw open the door and drew his wand.  "Sirius!" he called, softly, his voice trembling, but his wand hand steady.  The house was deathly silent.  This unnerved him.  Usually the house would be filled with the screaming of the late Mrs. Black's portrait, but now nothing.  He walked to the staircase and gazed up them.  "Sirius?" he called again.  As expected, he heard no response. 

He walked carefully up the groaning steps, calling for his former friend every few paces.  And at every call there was a response of silence.  Remus cautiously opened every door he came across, entering the room quickly with his wand raised and ready to scream out a curse if necessary.  Every room he encountered was the same as the kitchen.  Silent and dark.  He came to the very end of a hallway, where there was another closed door.  "Sirius?" he called, softly, once again. 

He flung the door open only to be taken by surprise by a familiar voice barking out a spell.  "Expelliarmus!"  Remus's wand was torn from his hand and sailed towards the direction of the spell caster, who revealed himself from behind the closed bed curtains.  His face was thin and his dark eyes were glaring at Remus fiercely.  In one hand he threateningly held his wand, and in the other he now held Remus's wand.  He stood with his feet squarely and firmly planted on the ground, his posture aggressive and consumed in trembling rage.  His teeth were bared and clenched as he breathed heavily through the mouth.  His long dark brown hair was in massive disarray, and his clothing was haphazardly arranged as though he had recently had a bought of rage upon someone or something and caused more harm to himself than whatever was his enemy. 

"Sirius," Remus began, his nerves on the edge, having just been disarmed by someone he had considered a friend.  Sirius interrupted him, shouting in near hysterical fury. 

"Shut up, Remus!" Sirius threw Remus's wand behind his back and out of sight.  Remus obeyed Sirius's command immediately.  Sirius charged towards Remus, his wand raised level with the other man's throat.  In another instant, Remus found himself pressed against the wall, Sirius's free hand clenched in the fabric of his chest, with a wand firmly pressed into the base of his throat.  "How could you betray James like that, Remus?" Sirius growled in his face, his dark eyes blazing. 

"Sirius-"

"You were their Secret-Keeper!" he screamed, his face twisting in a torrent of painful emotion.  "You sold them, didn't you?"  Remus shook his head in both denial and confusion.  "Didn't you!" Sirius demanded, his voice bellowing, his wand pressing harder against Remus's throat. 

"No, Sirius!" Remus cried, his voice cracking in fear of the hysterical man before him.  "I wasn't!"  In the brief second that Sirius's grip on his clothing faltered and his wand shook, Remus escaped his grip and got several paces apart from him.  "They never even spoke to me of being their Secret-Keeper.  Why would you think that?  Because, as far as I knew, you were the Secret-Keeper!"

"No!" Sirius shouted, cutting off Remus again.  "James - James insisted that it not be me...Just before the Fidelius Charm was cast."  Remus watched Sirius for a moment only daring to approach him, when Sirius looked directly at him and the dark eyes were not blazing, but instead filled with complete loss.  Sirius's wand arm lowered to hang dejectedly at his side, posing no threat to Remus any longer.  Sirius continued to speak, his voice broken.  "He refused...to tell me who the new Secret-Keeper was.  I - I didn't think he would choose anyone other than one of us - a Marauder.  And...then...you disappeared for a while.  I thought he chose you, Remus." 

"Sirius..." Remus began, taking another step.  His voice suddenly refused to work.  Sirius was deflating before his eyes, the fierce and furious man in the room moments ago was quickly leaving behind his broken counterpart.  Remus knew the horrible things the other man was feeling, having experienced them as well. 

"James and Lily dead," Sirius whispered, as though the quieter he said it the less it would be true.  "And...Harry..."  Remus saw a single tear slide down the other man's face.  Sirius did not even use the effort to wipe away its existence.  He let it fall.  Remus watched as Sirius met his gaze again.  When he saw the amount of unshed tears there, Remus's eyes softened.  Sirius and Remus walked toward each other as though in a daze, seeing something familiar and knowing it would be there for comfort.  Sirius grabbed onto Remus and they embraced in a gentle supportive manner, holding onto each other, as though they both held their last friend in the world.  "I was there that night," Sirius whispered, trying to disguise his trembling voice.  "I saw the house.  I saw...James...He looked terrified.  Have you ever seen James like that?  I'll never forget it."  Sirius tried to breathe silently, but it came out as a strangled sob.  "And then I heard someone else there...and...I looked...and it was Hagrid.  He...had something in his arms...something small...something that was crying...Harry.  Dumbledore was right behind them, and...I went to Hagrid and saw Harry...dried blood on his head...and...a scar that wasn't there before.  It looked like a lightning bolt.  He looked at me...and...he didn't seem to even know me!"  Tears broke Sirius of his speech, his entire body shaking and his breathing unsteady and irregular.  "I begged Hagrid to let me take him.  I said, ‘Give Harry to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll take care of him.'  But...he said, ‘No.'  And...Dumbledore...said that Harry would be going to his aunt and uncle's in Little Whinging.  Muggles!"  Sirius spat the word like a curse.  "I gave every reason I could against sending Harry there...But...Dumbledore wouldn't...budge.  And...I told Hagrid, ‘Take my bike.'  He asked me why...Why...I told him, ‘I won't need it anymore.'  I...just didn't see the point of...keeping it...Do you remember, Remus?  James and I built it that summer?" 

"Yes," Remus confirmed, "I remember."  Remus found himself smiling a little, lost in the memory of his friends' excitement when they first tested the motorbike and having the flying mechanism work as planned. 

"I couldn't...How could I keep it?"

"To simply remember...better days."

"Those days ended even before...all of this, Remus."  Sirius left the comfort and support of Remus's embrace and walked away from him, going across the room around the bed.  He stooped low to pick up something from the floor.  As he walked back to Remus, the other man was speaking.

"Then, all you can do is remember those days fondly.  Your life is not over, Sirius."  Sirius held out Remus's wand to him.  "Thank you."  Remus pocketed it again in his inner jacket pocket.  "Think back to our schooldays if it helps.  Just..."  As he tried to search for the right words, Sirius's eyes sparked and he met the other's gaze.  "What is it?" Remus asked.

Sirius said nothing.  He walked with urgency to his wardrobe, flinging the door open with enough force for it to bang loudly against the wall.  He yanked a long coat from a hanger and furiously struggled into it.  "Sirius, what is it?" Remus asked again, louder this time.  Sirius seemed to be in a haze of rage again, but much more terrifying than the fury he encountered initially.  Sirius strode right past Remus and out of the door of his room.  Remus followed at a quick run.  Sirius was already bounding down the stairs, with Remus charging after him, trying to catch up.  "Sirius!"  When Sirius turned right at the bottom of the stairs, Remus jumped the rest of the way and grabbed hold of Sirius's arm.  Sirius whipped his head around to Remus, his dark eyes now volcanic with rage.  "Tell me!" Remus demanded. 

"If you weren't Secret-Keeper, and neither was I - and...I said that I couldn't imagine James choosing anyone besides a Marauder - then - that only leaves one other person!" Sirius's whole body trembled with his need for vengeance and his untamed fury. 

"Peter Pettigrew!" gasped Remus.  Sirius nodded, and jerked his arm free of Remus's hold, intending to leave when Remus's voice stopped him.  "Harry is missing, Sirius!"

He turned abruptly and instantly was toe-to-toe with Remus.  "What?" he growled. 

"Dumbledore saw me today.  He told me that Harry's missing."

Sirius swore under his breath.  "He swore that he'd be safe!  How could he - how could-"  Sirius was consumed with his anger that his voice had been taken from him.  "Where could he possibly be?  He could be anywhere!"

"I'm sure he's somewhere safe," Remus tried to reassure him.

"And how would you know?  He could be in the hands of Death Eaters for all we know!"  Sirius closed his eyes and shook his head in a vain attempt to gather himself.  "I - I have to go, Remus."  Remus opened his mouth to protest but Sirius spoke first.  "I have a rat to sniff out and kill."  He turned and began towards the door again. 

Remus could not believe this was happening.  Sirius felt that avenging James was more important than his godson?  What was happening to the world?  "Sirius!  James is gone!  You have a responsibility to Harry, now!  Honor that!"

Sirius faced Remus again.  With sincerity and a steady voice he replied, "And I will, but only after Pettigrew pays for what he's done to James and Lily." 

Before Remus could challenge that statement, Sirius had already walked through the door and slammed it shut behind him again.  Once again, Remus was left alone in a dark and silent home staring at the door through which his friend had left.  With a sigh, Remus felt his shoulders slump and his expression sadden as he turned to walk back into the kitchen.  There on the mantel was an item that held what he was looking for, Floo Powder.  He reached into the unnecessarily elaborate little cauldron and removed a pinch of black, glittering powder.  He threw it into the fire and shouted, "Remus Lupin's Flat," and stepped into the lit fireplace disappearing once again in a swirl of green flames. 

* * *

Remus was awoken by an annoying tapping on his window.  He opened his eyes blearily and rose from the sofa.  Was it the next day already?  His vision began to focus as he walked in the direction of the tapping sound.  He moved the torn curtain aside to peer out.  An owl was flapping outside of his window, gripping the newest copy of  _The Daily Prophet_ , and a small money purse attached to its leg.  Remus opened the window, admitting the owl inside.  He took the newspaper from the animal and reached into his pocket for the bird's payment, depositing it into the money pouch.  After receiving its money, the owl flew out of the window again.  Remus shut the window again and situated the damaged curtain as best he could before going to the newspaper wondering what had happened worth reporting now.  What greeted him on the front page surprised him just as much as the news of the Potters' deaths. 

**SIRIUS BLACK, CONVICTED MURDERER**

_Apprehended shortly after killing thirteen_  
_Muggles and wizard Peter Pettigrew,_  
_Sirius Black was forcibly removed from_  
_the scene by twenty members of the_  
_Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Black_  
_has been reportedly in league with_  
_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named long_  
_before Pettigrew confronted Black in_  
_a duel resulting in his gruesome death._  
_The only recovered piece of Pettigrew_  
_was his finger. Peter Pettigrew has been_  
_awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class,_  
_posthumously. Sirius Black is currently_  
_held in Azkaban Prison..._

Remus's breath was sucked from his body as though someone had strangled it from his lungs.  He stared disbelievingly at the moving picture of Sirius struggling in the hold of numerous Ministry Law Enforcement Squad members, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes desperately searching for a friend, his hair dripping in a liquid that was darker and thicker than water.  Remus's mouth hung open identical to Sirius's in the picture, only his was open in shock, while the picture's was clearly screaming.  Remus stared at the picture for a long while, standing as still as a painter's subject.  He thought of the last conversation with Sirius, just yesterday.  His own voice came back to haunt him.

_"Sirius!  James is gone!  You have a responsibility to Harry now!  Honor that!"_

_"And I will, but only after Pettigrew pays for what he's done to James and Lily."_

Remus closed his eyes as he heard the voices echoing in his head.  Sirius will never be able to honor that responsibility now!  Who would now?  "I will," Remus said to himself, opening his eyes to see the struggling Sirius, saying the words almost as a promise to look after what Sirius could not. 

Sirius's picture looked directly at the camera and screamed almost frighteningly into the lens, the emotion visible in his expression obvious to only Remus.  The chestnut-haired wizard sat down on his sofa, still clutching the newspaper, his mind darting in all different directions.  His impulsive mind decided on a reckless course of action to defend Sirius and earn his freedom, before the rational half of his mind took him back to reality.   _"Your life is not over, Sirius."_   He gazed sadly upon the picture on the front page once more and whispered to it, as though trying to speak to the man pictured, "Now it is, Sirius.  Now it's over." 

Remus sat on his sofa with the newspaper for a long time his mind completely blank and thoughtless.  He stared straight ahead as though he were not among trying to figure out when the world had gone so wrong.  His body was frozen in his position.  He did not know what to do.  Without any other emotion in him but overwhelming grief - for James, for Lily, for Sirius, for Harry - his strength gave out and his tears finally flowed from his blue eyes. 

* * *

The house of the Black Family was silent.  There was no one left in the house.  The last member of the family yet living was now forever contained in the wizard prison, Azkaban.  Strangely, a fire was still burning in the fireplace. How a fire managed to last this long without anyone to tend it was a mystery.  But there was someone to tend to the fire.  The same old resident of the household whose service would be forever bound to the family, even in their deaths or other circumstances.  This resident went by the name of Kreacher and he was a house-elf.  He wore an old pillowcase type of garment, stained from extended consecutive wear.  His long, pointed ears were starting to droop in his age, and his large round eyes were not as bright as they once were.  He was getting old, slower, and crankier with every passing year.  However, as ordered by his latest master, he kept the fire burning to keep communication lines open through the Floo Network with those of a friendly nature.  This house-elf shuffled about the kitchen, hiding various items of value in what he had very recently claimed as his room - a cupboard under the sink.  It was when he had just stashed some shiny treasures in his space that the fire flared high and green and a figure stepped through. 

Kreacher slowly, almost lazily, shuffled over to this person and looked up and spoke in a raspy, grating voice.  "Yes, sir?"

"Are...are you Kreacher?" the man asked.  Kreacher slowly nodded once.  "Oh, good.  I need to ask you a few things.  Is that alright?"  Kreacher said nothing to the man, but walked to one of the kitchen chairs and pulled it out from the table, indicating that the man should sit himself in it.  He did, and Kreacher stood beside the sitting man waiting rather impatiently to be asked these questions. 

"Kreacher, has Sirius ever had a man here named James recently, maybe with a young woman, Lily, and a very young child named Harry?" 

Kreacher mumbled something unintelligible, and was asked to repeat it.  "Yes," he reiterated. 

The figure seemed encouraged and asked anther question.  "Were there any toys or things that a young child like Harry would play with or use or need kept here?" 

"Yes," Kreacher responded, trying to not mumble too much, for he hated being asked to repeat himself. 

"Would you please fetch them for me?" he asked the house-elf, who grumbled in protest at receiving an order from someone that he technically did not have to obey, especially when none of his masters were there.  He refused to budge.  The chestnut-haired man asked again.  "Please, Kreacher.  I do not know where anything is in this house.  Please, fetch them for me." 

Kreacher mumbled again in protest but he nevertheless raised his right hand and snapped his long, bony fingers.  He disappeared even before the sound of the snap faded.  In a few moments, he materialized again with a sharp whip-like crack.  He held the handle of a small traveling trunk.  It was black wood polished to gleam in nearly any lighting.  He dropped the handle of the trunk beside the man's chair and then shuffled away towards his cupboard under the sink, mumbling all the way.  The man, meanwhile, opened the trunk and looked at the contents.  Seemingly satisfied, he closed it again.  He left his chair and crouched to pick up the trunk.  He had just turned to the fireplace when he heard a raspy, "Sir?" from the height of his knee.  He looked down to see Kreacher standing beside his leg with a large key in his hand. 

"Yes?"

Kreacher held the key as high as he could towards the man, who bent in order to hook his finger through the ring at the top.  "Kreacher found this key in a letter."  With a snap of his fingers, a letter appeared in his hand.  This, he also held out to the man.  "You looks like a young man in pictures that...Master had."  The house-elf seemed to reluctantly say the word master. 

The man nodded, a weak smile appearing on his face.  "Yes.  I'm Remus Lupin."  He took the letter offered by Kreacher.  He looked at the name on the envelope, Sirius Black, in neat writing which he recognized immediately.  James.  "Thank you, Kreacher," he said, kindly.  He walked to the fireplace.  Remus turned around to look at Kreacher.  "I think you will be able to put out the fire, though.  Sirius will not be coming back for...a very long time.  He will not mind."  He could not bring himself to say that his friend was never coming back.  Even he had not accepted that yet. 

Remus put down the trunk before he pinched out of the cauldron some of the black glittering powder and throwing it into the fire.  The flames grew high and green again.  Remus picked the trunk up again as he clearly pronounced his destination, "Remus Lupin's Flat."  He checked quickly to be sure he had the trunk, key, and letter before stepping into the flames of the House of Black for the last time, and disappearing through the swirling flames. 

Kreacher waited until the flames turned their natural color and height before he shuffled to the fireplace and put out the fire in a final confirmation that no witch or wizard lived any longer in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 

* * *

Remus had finally settled at his kitchen table and prepared to open the letter that Kreacher had given to him.  He would recognize the handwriting on it anywhere.  It was James's handwriting.  Carefully, Remus opened the envelope and pulled a single page of sloppily folded parchment.  A grin lifted the corner of Remus's mouth as his memory was triggered by James's inability to properly fold a piece of paper.  The edges were always uneven, no matter how many times he would try to line them up.  At least Remus knew for sure that the letter was from James.  He unfolded it and began to read. 

_Sirius,_

_As you know, Lily and I are going into hiding.  Someone told Dumbledore that You-Know-Who is looking for us.  He advised us that hiding would be the best thing, and I agree, for Lily's sake and for Harry's.  We've decided that we may go under the Fidelius Charm soon, and are thinking of potential Secret-Keepers.  As Harry's godfather, I think it is only right to ask you, but Lily isn't so sure.  She does trust you, but she's scared, and wants to be sure that we put careful thought and consideration into this.  I have to say, she is right.  But we did decide on something that would be best for everyone no matter what happens with our decision for Secret-Keeper._

_Enclosed is the key to our second vault.  There is one vault that Harry will be able to withdraw money from when he starts Hogwarts.  Lily and I agreed that we should make another one just in case anything should happen to us.  Harry, or his guardian, which would be you since you are his godfather, will be able to use this money for anything he needs.  If you want to spend your own money for him and let him use this amount for some later purpose, then by all means.  It's your decision.  We gave a spare key for our vault to Dumbledore for safe keeping.  We thought precautions in this would at least ensure that Harry will be taken care of, even in a small monetary way.  Thank you, Sirius._

_Keep this to yourself.  And if you even think of spending anything in that vault on yourself I will have to hex you, or turn into an angry Prongs on you!  And you know how terrible that can be._

_Fellow Marauder,  
_ _James Potter_

Remus refolded the paper and looked at the key the sat on the table nearby.  At least James had planned ahead.  "Probably Lily's doing," he half-chuckled to himself.  She always was practical.  He already had composed a letter immediately after going to Sirius's house that afternoon.  It was a difficult letter for him to write.  All he needed to do now was have it delivered. 

He wasted no further time.  He went through his apartment and prepared the items needed for the delivery.  He had carefully placed the letter back in the envelope and tucked it into the miscellany of items in the trunk.  Along with it he placed the vault key.  He tightly and carefully wrapped the trunk in the proper paper for delivery and tied it with a huge amount of string, securing everything as best he could. 

With caution, he approached his sleeping brown barn owl with the composed letter and woke the bird, which glared at Remus meanly.  "Will you deliver this, Aria?"  She hooted at him at angled her head to read the name on the envelope in her owner's familiar writing.  She snatched the envelope in her beak and then glared at the trunk that was larger than her.  Remus understood.  He drew his wand and said, "Reducio," aiming the wand at the trunk.  Once the spell hit it, the size of the trunk decreased until it was smaller than the owl waiting to deliver it.  Once she saw it was a proper carrying size, she latched onto it with her talons and she flew towards the window. 

Remus opened the window and watched as the owl flew from the apartment with a trunk filled with children's toys, two letters, and a vault key.  As he watched the bird fly away, he hoped that he had made the right decision and that his hunch would prove him correct. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment, please! Thank you! ~ RK 
> 
> Chapter Notes: For the purpose of this story the Floo Network works as follows: If a fire is burning in the fireplace, the Floo is open and accessible for communication and travel. If there is no fire burning, the Floo is closed, Floo calls cannot occur, and travel into/from that particular fireplace cannot happen.
> 
> I took some liberties with the Secret Keeper/Fidelius Charm situation, the timeline of events a little bit, and with Kreacher. I figured that he would still be civil at least at this point considering that he is still used to having humans around. By the time canon Prisoner of Azkaban would happen, he would have been alone in that house for 12 years. He probably started to think of it as his own, rather than belonging to anyone else, and so he would turn bitter and hostile when Sirius would return, not to mention when it's used as Headquarters later. And yes, Remus has an owl. The poor man needs someone!


	4. A Message and a Delivery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: Unexpected help arrives...
> 
> (Originally published on 3 August 2009.)

 

**Chapter Four - A Message and a Delivery**

He hoped that every morning would not begin like this one.  He sat at the head of the kitchen table and the child sat to his right in a highchair charmed from the adult sized chair of the kitchen set.  The boy was a hopeless case when it came to eating, apparently.  He had managed to get more food everywhere else but in his stomach.  It was spread all over the boy's chest, lap, hands, face...everywhere!  The tray of the highchair was smothered in the remains of the boy's breakfast.  He had even at one point taken great delight in throwing what food the young man managed to force into his tiny mouth directly onto the elder's carefully arranged plate of breakfast.  As a last resort, the dark-haired young man decided to charm the spoon to feed the child while he tried to eat what was mercifully spared the child's decorations to his own food.  He even found the corner of his mouth furthest from the boy lifting in a half-smile as the child's giggling was stopped by the spoon that took the opportunity of an open mouth to shove in food, abruptly ending the giggling, until either the boy swallowed, spit it out, or dribbled it down his face only to resume giggling merrily. 

The young man looked up at the child who grinned toothily at him, proudly indicating with the smile his accomplishment of managing to avoid almost two thirds of his breakfast.  ‘Perhaps that is why children are always hungry,' the man thought.  ‘Their food ends up everywhere but their stomach.'

His thoughts were interrupted by an insistent tapping on the closed shutters of the kitchen window.  Wondering who would possibly be tapping on his window, he drew his wand cautiously and approached the closed window, his body blocking the view that any eyes on the other side of the shutter would have of the messy child at his table still giggling and smiling to himself.  He flicked his wand at the closed window, whispering an incantation, and the shutters opened to reveal a brown owl with a letter in its beak and its talons gripping tight to a decent sized parcel.  Seeing this owl was not what he expected.  Without much hesitation but still with suspicion, he walked forward and opened the window, allowing the bird entry into his kitchen. 

The bird set the parcel on the kitchen table, intelligently far away from the reaching hands of the little boy in the highchair, whose attention was immediately focused on the owl as soon as it entered the room.  The owl perched herself on the back of the kitchen chair at the other end of the table, the letter still in her beak.  The dark-haired man looked at the writing on it and froze at the name of the intended receiver.

He reached towards the bird and gripped the envelope.  The bird released it easily then gazed upon him curiously.  The young man pointed his wand to the counter, where a few items from breakfast were still available.  The owl flew to them and nibbled away happily.  He, meanwhile, walked back to his chair and sat in a daze staring at the envelope.  How did anyone know?  He had been careful.  The small giggle of the boy stirred him and he looked at the child and studied him for a moment.  Their eyes met for a length of time before the younger man remembered the letter he held in his hand and his attention went back to it.  He did not even notice when the owl flew from his home leaving him, the boy, and the parcel alone in the kitchen again.  He turned the envelope over and broke the seal, removed the parchment, unfolded it and started to read, his heart pounding in his chest.

 

_Severus,_

_I hope that my instincts are correct in the writing of this letter.  It was my intention to come to you directly, but I was unsure of the welcome I would receive.  I learned of the attack at Godric's Hollow through what I read, and then was the unexpected host of Professor Dumbledore in my apartment._

_He told me that Lily's son was missing and that the public was blaming him.  I know this may be nonsense, and you most likely do not care about it.  But, when he told me that...Harry was missing my first thought was Sirius Black.  I went to see him and he was not responsible for the, forgive the term, abduction.  When I learned this, the only other name I could think of was your own.  And that is how this letter finds you._

_I hope that I am correct.  If he is with you, that is well.  I know that you will do everything in your power to keep him safe.  If not, then I hope this does not cause you grief in any way.  For the sake of the Wizarding World, and his own, I hope he is in your care._

_I have also sent a trunk with Aria containing some toys and other things that I have collected from Sirius' home this afternoon, after learning of his...imprisonment in Azkaban.  There is also a letter which you should read fully.  I hope they are useful and helpful to you, Severus._

_Also, when I spoke to Sirius, he spoke of the night of the attack.  And he mentioned that...Harry has a scar, now.  My memory may be wrong, but Lily had once developed a charm to remove scars, correct?  It may be wise to use one of those charms on the boy, since he will surely be recognized with a mark as distinct as a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.  If the boy has any chance of being a normal wizarding child, then the only option is to remove the scar.  But I leave that final decision to you._

_If you ever need assistance with anything, please, let me know.  I will be glad to help as I used to.  After all, it is thanks to you that I do not suffer as much as years past._

_Remus Lupin_

_P.S. I regret that contacting you could not be under happier circumstances._

 

Severus reread the letter.  His tension was lessened with the knowledge that someone supported his decision.  His dark eyes drifted to the package on the table wrapped with a superfluous amount of string.  With a sigh, he rose from the chair and went to the package.  He struggled with the string for a few moments, much to the entertainment of the little boy.  Finally, he wrestled it off, and carefully removed the paper from it.  Realizing that the item was shrunken, Severus pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Engorgio," causing it to swell to its true size. 

He set his wand down on the table and reached out to open the trunk.  To his surprise, it was filled with a variety of items that would keep a child occupied for quite some time.  Not surprising to him was a stuffed animal of a black dog.  He removed each item from the trunk as he inspected them.  When he put the dog on the table, the boy's arms flailed wildly, recognizing that toy as well.  "Surrus!" he cried.  "Surrus!" 

Severus slid his gaze from the book of children's stories to the boy, whose arms desperately reached across the messy tray towards the stuffed dog.  Severus set the book down and picked up his wand again, aiming in the boy's direction.  With a quick cleaning charm, everything but the boy was spotless.  He would never use a particular cleaning spell on this child, particularly since it had once been cruelly misused on him years ago.  With another wave of his wand, he conjured a damp cloth.  Some things simply needed to be done the Muggle way, and cleaning the face of a squirming child was one such instance.  He went to the boy and proceeded to clean everywhere he could without being smacked by a flailing arm, or slobbered on by stray drool.  Once finished, he gave the boy the stuffed dog.  The child began to talk incoherent nonsense to the inanimate animal as he petted his head as tenderly as a little boy was able in his enthusiasm.  With the child distracted, Severus could focus again on the items in the trunk. 

He found a tiny set of mittens and a matching winter hat in the colors of gold and maroon.  Severus groaned softly at the color choice.  He set them aside.  There were several books with colorless illustrations in them - Muggle coloring books.  ‘How odd for Black to have this,' he thought.  Just underneath the coloring book was a small collection of crayons.  At least the boy would have been safely occupied while at Sirius Black's home.  That opinion was destroyed when he noticed the gleam of a polished toy training broom.  Biting back a cry of dismay, he inspected the broom carefully, finally taking notice of the tiny gold etchings towards the bristles of the broom that detailed what a worried adult would look for.

 

_Safety Spells Enacted:_

_Will not exceed .76 meters (2.5 feet) in flying height._

_Will not exceed five feet apart from parent while flying._

_Will not fly if child is not holding broom with both hands._

_Will not exceed speed 8.05 kilometers (5 miles) per hour._

_Not for children under one year._

_If unsatisfied, the Training Broom may be returned to Quality Quidditch Supplies, Diagon Alley.  Questions/Comments?  Owl or Floo Call us._

 

Deciding that it seemed harmless enough, Severus placed in with the other items.  Finally, he had nothing else in the box but what he had avoided on the very top, a key and a letter addressed to Sirius Black.  ‘Why would Lupin send me this?' he thought.  Hesitantly, he picked up the letter and opened it.  With his lips curling in disdain, he recognized James Potter's writing.  He began reading the letter.   _Someone told Dumbledore that You-Know-Who is looking for us._   Severus gasped as a memory suddenly filled his mind.  He closed his eyes as a memory of a meeting on a cold and dark hilltop what seemed like years ago.  He still heard the words in his head.

_"Keep her - them - safe.  Please."_

_"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"_

_"In - in return?"_

"Anything," he finished aloud.  His eyes opened and they drifted from the letter to the child in the highchair, now asleep in an awkward position with his face nuzzling the stuffed dog, and a trail of drool dampening the fur.  Tears began to flow from Severus's dark eyes.  The child seemed so at peace while he was a walking hurricane of emotion. 

Angrily, he brushed away his tears and continued reading the letter.  At least James and Lily were cautious enough to think of opening a second vault for the boy in the event that anything should happen.  This would make caring for the boy much easier by being able to access funds other than the small income he earned through his work in potion making.  He eyed the key, which he could only conclude was the key for the second vault, before picking it up and carrying it purposefully into his parlor.  The walls were lined with bookcases now filled with volumes of wizard texts and resources, including his personal records.  There were identical copies of the book  _Moste Potente Potions_  beside each other.  He removed the one on the right and opened the cover, revealing a hollowed center, where several odd trinkets were hidden, including another key similar to the new one he placed in the hollow book.  He closed it and replaced it on the top shelf.  With meaningful strides, he reentered the kitchen, and put all of the toys and various other items into the trunk again, with the exception of the stuffed dog to which the boy still clung.

He looked upon the boy for several moments before his observations were interrupted as they were earlier by the hooting of another owl flying through his window, which woke up the boy, whose half-open eyes looked at the owl with a letter in its beak.  Just like the first owl, this one perched on the back of the chair and waited for Severus to approach it.  He took the letter, and without another sound the owl flew speedily from the house. 

Severus recognized the writing on this envelope as well.  It belonged to a certain aged wizard mentioned in his previously received letter.  Rolling his eyes, the man opened it and unfolded the thick cream-colored parchment.  He began to read the short and direct note.

 

_Return to your position in Hogwarts, Severus._

_Classes are still in progress.  Report back no later than this evening._

 

Severus's eyes hardened as he reread the note.  Dumbledore did not seem to know what he had done.  He looked at the boy who was grinning at him sleepily.  How was he supposed to keep the boy hidden in Hogwarts?  If Lupin could figure out where the child had been taken and by whom, surely the Headmaster would be able to put the pieces together.  Lupin! 

Severus quickly put down Dumbledore's letter and picked up Remus's letter from earlier, searching for a particular section.  When he found it, he reread it to himself several times. 

_Harry has a scar, now.  My memory may be wrong, but Lily had once developed a charm to remove scars, correct?  It may be wise to use one of those charms on the boy, since he will surely be recognized with a mark as distinct as a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.  If the boy has any chance of being a normal wizarding child, then the only option is to remove the scar.  But I leave that final decision to you._

Severus instantly made his decision.  He put Remus's letter next to Dumbledore's and he went back into his parlor searching the bookcases for several volumes of leather bound journals that he and Lily had written together during their schooldays containing their own spells, mostly hers.  At last, he found one.  It was a Muggle-looking brown leather bound journal, the pages with gold edges, with little different colored silk ribbons marking certain pages.  He flipped furiously through the pages as he walked back into his kitchen, determined that this child would not be out of his sight longer than necessary.  He sat down in the chair with the book spread before him, searching for the spell that he been frequently applied to him by the caressing touch of a willow wand.  It was marked by the only dark green ribbon in the book.  He read the spell's incantation repeatedly to be sure he had it correct, having never spoken it himself, only been on the receiving end of it.  It was the note in a feminine script that caused his vision to blur with fresh tears after reading it. 

_For Severus, to soothe away reminders of painful times._

Forcing his emotions down again, Severus reread the incantation and moved his wand in practicing motions.   He read the instructions carefully on the procedure of the spell before closing the book and preparing himself to perform it on the boy to his right, who had drifted off in sleep again.  He was unsure whether or not he should do this while the boy was awake or asleep, and so consulted the journal again, his nerves spiking.  He did not find any evidence to either way.  He searched his own memories for the times this charm was used on him.  He was always awake.  ‘Awake it is, then,' he thought. 

Severus reached out his hand hesitantly, still unsure of how to handle a child.  His fingers brushed against the boy's rounded cheek.  The light touch caused the child's eyes to flutter open and meet the dark eyes of the wizard.  Wasting no time, Severus gently placed his wand against the highest tip of the lightning bolt scar.  The boy's attention was focused on the wand, his eyes crossing as he tried to only shift his eyes to see it.  Taking a deep breath, Severus began to trace the lightning bolt scar and strongly spoke the incantation, "Aufer vulnerem."  When the scar changed angles, he repeated the incantation, just as the procedure indicated.  "Aufer vulnerem."  And last, the scar changed angles for the second time, and again Severus spoke the incantation.  "Aufer vulnerem."  He leaned back to see if the charm was correct.  The little boy looked curiously at the man studying him.  A hint of a grin appeared on Severus's face as he saw the scar begin to fade until the child's forehead was clear as though the oddly-shaped scar had never existed.  The child before him looked completely...normal.

Severus got to his feet again and closed the shutters and the window in which the two owls of the day had entered his home, cloaking the room in semi-darkness once again.  He turned to the boy again and simply said, "Time to go back upstairs."  The little boy reached out to him with one arm, the other holding onto the dog's leg.  Severus went to the child and lifted him and the stuffed animal from the highchair.  He held him to his chest securely as he left the kitchen and walked to the staircase that was hidden behind one of the bookcases lining the wall of his parlor.  He went upstairs and into his childhood room, where the cradle stood.  Severus crouched low and set the boy onto the floor to amuse himself with his dog. 

He had several things to do before he could even consider returning to Hogwarts with the boy in his care.  The boxes were still near the bed.  He walked to them and began searching through the contents he had to hurriedly gather that terrible night.  After several moments he found what he was looking for.  He carefully removed the thick, large envelope from the box.  He opened it and took out the equally thick sheet of parchment.  It seemed to be an official document.  There were three sections of the document that he had previously seen altered through one of the memories he was given on the night of the attack.  And he knew that it was now his turn to switch all three into something else.  He knew what he had to do in order to activate the charmed parchment. 

He took the paper from the room, leaving the boy to amuse himself on the floor with his stuffed black dog.  He carried it down the hallway and into his bedroom and straight to his desk.  He opened a desk drawer to reveal a small, decorative knife.  He quickly conjured a small crimson cloth napkin, and placed it on the edge of the desk.  He placed the parchment flat on his desk and pushed the knifepoint into the tip of his left index finger until blood began to flow from the small wound.  He held the deliberately injured finger over one section of the document and allowed precisely three drops of his blood to fall onto the parchment.  As he watched the document for a change he wrapped his hand in the napkin ensuring that there were no stray drops of blood.  Nothing could disrupt this process.  Instantly after the last drop absorbed into the parchment, the entire document glowed in a vibrant blood red color.  He knew this was the time to speak what he needed to.  Pressing his wand to the section where his blood had dripped onto the document, he spoke the words, "Ostende nominem patris."  He moved his wand to another section and spoke a second incantation.  "Ostende nominem mei filii."  Again, he slid his wand downwards on the document directly across from the first section and said a final incantation.  "Tege nominem matris."  The glow of the thick parchment intensified to a degree that Severus had no choice but to close his eyes.  When the parchment finally returned to its original color, he opened his eyes.  Where three names were on each of the three sections previously, three new ones took their places.  With a spreading of warmth through his chest he gazed upon two of the new names. 

Suddenly he heard Dumbledore's voice in his mind from only two days ago.

_"If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."_

_"What - what do you mean?"_

_"You know how and why she died.  Make sure it was not in vain.  Help me protect Lily's son."_

Severus felt the first hint of a genuine smile develop on his face for the first time in nearly a year.  If only Albus Dumbledore knew how well Severus planned to protect Lily's son.  Still grinning to himself, Severus Snape began packing for his small companion's stay with him at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spells Invented: "Aufer vulnerem" - trans. "Take away [the] wound." This is used to remove wounds, and scars, by incanting the phrase while tracing the path of the wound/scar with the wand tip. In my world, this would only be used on birth certificates on which these facts are hidden/need to be hidden: 1. "Ostende nominem patris." - trans. "Show [the] father’s name." 2. "Ostende nominem mei filii." - trans. "Show [the] name [of] my son." 3. "Tege nominem matris." - trans. "Conceal (cover, hide, protect, defend) [the] mother’s name." 
> 
> If my Latin is incorrect, I do apologize. I do not know the language, and am doing the best I can. If anyone does know Latin, and can offer how to fix it, I would gladly take the advice. 
> 
> Reviews make me happy! Review, please...


	5. Unexpected Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter: Severus returns to Hogwarts to an unexpected welcome. Meanwhile, the other professors form a plan...
> 
> (Originally published: 5 August 2009)

 

**Chapter Five - Unexpected Welcome**

When one wanted to arrive or depart somewhere and preferred to remain unnoticed picking the appropriate time is essential.  Nighttime was just poor planning, for all of the suspicious eyes are piercing the night for anything and everything.  The daytime was equally as bad a choice since in the light every action, suspicious or otherwise, could be witnessed from every location.  It was the times between, the changing-of-the-guard times of day that were ideal for secret arrivals and departures - twilight and dawn.  If one had the extra advantage of arriving or fleeing into a crowded area - a forest, a busy street - then time was not as important.  However, if someone had the misfortune of trying to slink through an open area, such as a long walkway up to large gates and then through an even larger open courtyard, time was everything.  The young man had the misfortune of trying to arrive in such an open space.  But, fortunately, he chose the correct time in which to arrive.  Twilight. 

In the cold, overcast twilight of November 3, 1981 there was the sudden sound of a quiet snap.  Where a moment previous the landscape was even, undisturbed and silent, there now stood a man.  His long, black hair whipped about his face as the wind took the hem of his cloak and waltzed with it.  Behind him floated several items, among them a trunk, a stack of books, and a battered cradle, all of which were shrunken to a bearable traveling size.  In his arms was a squirming little boy carefully wrapped in a tartan blanket.  His left arm cradled the child to his chest, while his right hand pressed the boy's covered head into his body to shield him from the wind.  In his right hand, he also held his wand, which he subtly pointed to the shrunken items indicating where they should float. 

His progress up the slope towards the large gates of the immense castle before him was unnoticed by every pair of eyes that would have the opportunity of spying.  He walked easily up to the gates, and tapped them with his wand.  He waited a moment so that the wards could recognize his magic signature before the gates separated a tiny amount, allowing him to push them open only as far as he needed to pass through and guide his trailing baggage behind him.  He did not need to push the gates closed, for as he continued across the courtyard he heard them snap shut again resetting the wards around the castle and the grounds. 

He finally reached the large double doors of the castle.  The entrance doors.  There was only one other time he had been this nervous before them and that was many years ago.  He took a deep breath, looked down and met the eyes of the little boy in his arms, and straightened his spine, preparing to enter the castle.  This was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he was employed, where he had a flat, where some of his greatest miseries were exploited, where few joys were remembered.  He now developed hope that this child could give him reason to have more joys in his life.  He passed into the entranceway of the school, noticing that it was mercifully empty.  He did not yet know how he would explain the child in his arms.  He decided that he would handle that situation when it arrived.

Severus did not even glance around as he began to quickly walk towards his suite in the dungeons.  His walk was of such a speed and force that it caused his cloak to ripple and billow majestically.  It was a talent that intimidated his students and he liked it that way.  He knew that since he was young the students would try to make his life as a professor difficult, making him try his intimidation theories.  Seeing as he had no problems with them thus far, he concluded that his tactics were working.  The journey to the dungeons did not take him long.  The boy in his arms was fully awake and silent, his head turning quickly back and forth trying to take in everything around him as the man carrying him walked at such a fast pace.  At last, Severus arrived at a portrait, which could be considered out of place in the dungeons, but it was personal to him.  Out of habit, he whispered the password, and the portrait swung inward allowing him entrance, his items trailing in behind him before the portrait closed again, safely enclosing Severus and the boy in his teacher's suite.

* * *

 

The Great Hall was bursting with activity, at least with the students.  They were still behaving as though the last several days had not happened nor mattered all that much.  They filed into the Great Hall for dinner, as noisy as ever.  The immense fireplace blazed and bathed the entire hall in a comforting orange atmosphere.  The ceiling, which was charmed to depict the weather of the outside at all times, was just turning into twilight.  Clouds were moving into the sky, covering it in a shroud of darkness.  While the students chattered amongst themselves, there were various quiet conversations taking place at the long staff table. 

In a large throne-like, decorative chair sat the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.  He was very tense and sat in his chair perfectly straight, his entire body rigid.  To his right sat Professor McGonagall, a tall, elderly witch with a kind but stern face.  She sat erect in her less elaborate chair and wore a false smile when she felt the eyes of a few students on her.  The seat next to her own chair was empty.  Her eyes would drift to it occasionally as the students filed into the Great Hall, as though hoping something would suddenly materialize in the chair or even that it would materialize into something else.  To Dumbledore's left sat a very small creature, not exactly goblin but not exactly human either.  He was a mixture of the two, looking more like a very small old man.  He, like Professor McGonagall, tried to smile but was failing miserably.  To his left was a plump witch with flyaway hair that was just starting to grey.  Her robes and her hat were frayed and patched in numerous places.  Her hands and clothing were covered and caked in earthy materials, be it leaves or simply dirt.  This woman was Professor Pomona Sprout.  With the exception of the Headmaster, these professors served as Head of House for one of the four divisions in Hogwarts - Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.  Professor McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor, while Professors Flitwick and Sprout were Head of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively.  The Head of Slytherin was absent and had been for several days.  This did not go unnoticed by the staff members or the students.  If the students knew something was either wrong or out of place, they knew it had something to do with Slytherin's Head of House - Professor Severus Snape. 

Without a word, Dumbledore signaled for the meal to begin.  This in itself was unusual, considering he would say at least an odd assortment of random words when he had nothing to say, even just to get things moving.  However, with his mood being foul, and his posture tense, he could not find his voice.  If he did, he most likely would have chosen an assortment of a few inappropriate words to begin the meal.  He did not wish to alarm the students by shouting out curses right before a meal.  And thus settled for simply flicking his wrist, after which the plates on the tables and the goblets near them were filled. 

As everyone began eating, Dumbledore looked to McGonagall and spoke.  "Have you heard from Severus?"

She lifted her goblet and took a sip before shaking her head.  "No.  I have heard nothing from him since before-" 

"Before the Potters were killed?" 

She nodded, taking another sip.  Dumbledore gave a tense sigh and turned to the left and asked the same question of Professor Flitwick, who responded with a feeble squeak of a laugh and, "The boy will turn up.  He knows his responsibilities.  You know as well as I, Albus, that it is not in Severus's nature to ignore his duties." 

With such blind faith opposing him, Dumbledore had no choice but to accept the answers of his colleagues.  He began to nibble at his meal.  While the students and the ends of the staff table conversed loudly, the middle was strangely silent.  This continued for a great length of time, until nearly all of the staff and students were finished with their dinner and were enjoying their desserts, contentedly. 

Suddenly above their heads was a loud screech.  A large and impressive owl was flying towards the staff table, a letter in its beak.  The owl glided through the Great Hall looking ominous and dreadful against the depicted rain of the ceiling.  It drifted directly to Dumbledore who took the letter and turned it over, leaving the owl free to fly away again.  The letter was sealed in crimson wax, on top of a looped ribbon of the same shade.  The seal bore a large "M" on it.  This was an official letter from the Ministry of Magic.  Dumbledore's body grew tenser, as not only he stared at the letter, but the entire staff table and the whole student body gazed at it in silent dread and curiosity.  When Dumbledore broke the seal, the dull sound reverberated through the Hall so that even the person sitting farthest away could clearly hear it. 

Dumbledore's eyes began reading the letter, knowing full well that Professor McGonagall was reading it with him by her slight lean in towards him.  There were only several words that jumped out at him.  "... _Arrest..."  "...Death Eater..."  "...This evening..."  "...Severus Snape..."_   He heard McGonagall try to stifle a gasp with her hand as she read that particular section.  Dread filled Dumbledore for a moment as he quickly reread the letter. 

McGonagall finally found her voice and whispered urgently to him.  "You must do something, Albus." 

Dumbledore continued to stare at the letter for a moment more, before looking up and seeing hundreds of students focusing their attention on him.  Without a word he stood from his seat, still holding the letter, and began to leave the table.  Without looking back, he called for three members of staff to join him.  "Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and McGonagall follow me.  There is an urgent matter."  He then immediately walked around the staff table and began walking down the center of the Great Hall at a quick pace and large stride.  The students shifted to keep him in sight as he walked by them.  McGonagall hurried after him, followed by Professor Sprout, who had scrambled around the table, not expecting to be asked to accompany the headmaster.  Following directly behind the Head of Hufflepuff, was Professor Flitwick, who chose to dart under the table in order to follow the other professors. 

As all of the students shifted and followed the progress of the professors, McGonagall shouted out an order to all of them in Dumbledore's stead.  He had other things on his mind than what to do with the students at that moment.  "Prefects," she shouted.  "Lead the students back to your dormitories!"  With that, she left the Great Hall with the other professors, realizing the mistake in her orders too late. 

* * *

Once inside his teacher's suite, Severus released his luggage in the center of the parlor.  He walked into the room to his right, revealing an enormous bedroom.  He looked down at the wide-eyed boy in his arms.  "I think we should give you a room, little one, even if you won't use it for some time yet."  As though the boy understood completely what was coming, he grinned toothily at him, letting out a giggle. 

Severus looked around the room and debated what he should do with the arrangement.  With a satisfied grin, he nodded to himself, readied his wand and began a long string of incantations that caused an unbelievable amount of things to happen within the room.  Things began to materialize while other things flew to the other end of the room.  A large bed flew from one wall to the center of the large room, a trunk speeded past him, an entire bookcase lumbered to rest against a wall, rugs rolled up and then unfurled in their new locations, a desk was slammed into a wall, silver sconces grew from the walls like mushrooms on a tree trunk.  A second bed - complete with hangings - materialized from the air, as did a second desk, chair, a second wardrobe, and a new dresser.  Finally, an entire wall was erected, creating two separate rooms.  The last thing to be built was the dual fireplace, both on either side of the same wall, with a metal grate between the two, allowing one person to see clearly into the other room.  Between the two rooms, there was now another door.  Throughout all of this, the little boy laughed and tried to reach his tiny arms to catch some of the moving pieces of furniture.  The boy's green eyes sparkled as he excitedly watched everything around him change, except for the strong hold of the man's arms.

Severus looked around the new room, and grinned.  "This is your room," he said to the boy.

With a mischievous giggle, the boy reached for Severus's wand, gripped it tight, accidentally aiming it at the bed hangings and screamed the word, "Purper!"  The wand seemed to understand him enough, for a jet of sparks shot from the wand crashing into the bed hangings.  Like a bottle of spilled ink, the bed hangings began to shift color until they became a bright purple.  Severus, angry that the boy dared to touch his wand, never mind cause something to actually happen, could not help the grin from appearing on his face as he saw the hangings turn purple.  With a sigh, he pried the boy's fingers from his wand.  "No child of mine will sleep in a purple bed."  With a wave of his wand, the hangings turned into a deep green. 

With that he walked back into his parlor and summoned the cradle.  It drifted through the door and into his own room.  He enlarged it to its normal size and placed it in the center of the room on the rug.  He placed the child in it as he went to get the other items in the parlor.  With a wave of his wand, the books he brought spread out and found their respective bookcases and places on the shelves along one of the three monstrous bookcases in the parlor, one or two volumes drifting through doors to find their places on the bookcase in his bedroom.  He levitated the trunk from Remus next and walked with it into the newly created room.  He lowered it to rest at the foot of the large four-poster bed. 

With a last look at his work, he walked into his bedroom, where he found the little boy standing in the cradle watching the door intently.  When Severus appeared in the doorway, the boy thrust his arms through the bars towards him, smashing his face into one of them, knocking him backwards onto his bottom.  He began to whimper softly.  Severus crossed the room to the boy, and picked him up.  He began to walk around his room in several laps, whispering nothings to the child.  Slowly, the boy began to quiet, his mouth open in sleep. 

Severus decided it was time to inform someone of their arrival.  He walked out of his room, through the new room, and into the parlor.  He made his way carefully across the room to the fireplace.  On the mantle rested an elaborately decorated Muggle jewelry box.  It was silver and detailed a trail of flowers, with one large one at each corner.  On the lid of the box was the spelling of two names in ancient writing that very few could read now.  He opened the box slowly, before taking out a pinch of glittering green powder.  He threw it into the flames of the fireplace and clearly spoke.  "Remus Lupin."  The fire was now green as the Floo was activated. 

In only a moment, a familiar face appeared in the green flames.  "Severus," Remus responded.  His eyes were slightly worried for a brief moment but once he caught sight of the child safely cradled against the other man's chest, his eyes relaxed.  "I must say I am glad that you have him." 

Severus's lips twitched.  "I wanted to tell you that I've returned to Hogwarts." 

Remus tilted his head, looking surprised, smiling a little.  "How did you manage to get by Dumbledore?" 

"I arrived during dinner, when everyone would be in the Great Hall...He does not know yet." 

Remus tilted his head to the other side.  "Severus, you can't hide the boy forever." 

Severus looked down for a moment.  "I know, but...I..."

Remus interrupted.  "You seem to be taking everything well, though.  He never used to sleep when I held him, or when-"  His eyes grew dark for a moment and his face became blank as he finished his sentence.  "When Sirius would have him." 

"I do not know if I will-" Severus began, but he suddenly stopped when he heard an authoritative voice bellow through the portrait that guarded his chambers.  He heard one sentence that chilled all of the blood in his body. 

"Severus Snape!  By order of the Ministry of Magic, you are to grant us entrance!  You are under arrest on the charge of serving Lord Voldemort as a Loyal Death Eater!"

Severus's eyes grew wide and his jaw went slack, his lips opening in disbelief.  He turned to face the other man in the fire.  "Remus!" he desperately choked.  "Help me!" 

* * *

Dumbledore reached the entrance doors of Hogwarts in the speediest timing of his history as Headmaster.  The other three professors followed him closely.  He opened the doors and walked directly into the courtyard, straight to the huge gates.  There were several people waiting on the other side of the gates.  The first of these was the Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold.  Her eyes were cold and unforgiving.  Her long black hair was tied back into a tight bun, sitting at the very top of her head.  She stood with her feet firmly planted, her cloak blowing in the wind, with her wand pointed towards the ground.  She made an aggressive specimen.  On either side and behind her were two companions.  They were Aurors - Dark Wizard catchers.  The man on Millicent's right was a ferocious-looking man with tawny colored hair and bushy eyebrows.  His spectacles did nothing to hide his yellow eyes, and he was scarred heavily.  The man to her left was a tall dark skinned man, who wore cool colors of purples and blues.  His face was set in grim determination and his expression was humorless. 

"Headmaster Dumbledore!" the woman bellowed in a voice that carried across the courtyard.  "As Minister for Magic I demand entrance to the school grounds!" 

"Of course, Madam, of course."  Dumbledore made no motion as to open the gates.  "I just received your letter and-"

"The gates, Professor!" she howled. 

"Albus!" McGonagall hissed to her superior. 

"Is it absolutely necessary for you to come here with Aurors for Professor Snape, Minister?  I'm sure he will come quietly for questioning," the headmaster tried to stall. 

With a huff McGonagall stepped forward and struck the gates allowing them to swing open and allow the Minister and the two Aurors into the courtyard.  Millicent Bagnold pushed past the four professors like a furious thunderstorm.  The two Aurors were directly behind her.  The four residents of Hogwarts spun on their heels and began to walk at a faster pace than before as the Minister forced herself into the entrance doors.  At this abrupt entrance the students that were being led away to their dormitories stood shocked that the Minister herself would burst through the doors.  The entire student body froze and stared at the officials being followed by their professors and their headmaster.  Prefects vainly tried ordering their charges to continue to their dormitories, but not a single student moved, including the prefects giving the orders to do so. 

As she began her walk towards the dungeons, the Minister was speaking, "The Aurors accompanying me are Rufus Scrimgeour and Kingsley Shacklebolt.  They will assist in escorting Professor Snape from the premises should he choose not to cooperate." 

From half of their height, Professor Flitwick shouted to be heard, "Severus is not a Dark Wizard!" 

At that defensive statement, the entire student body became noisy.  Whispers ranging from, "I knew it!" to "How can he be?" sounded throughout the entrance hall.  Other varying whisperings caught the ears of the other professors, including those heading towards the dungeons.  "He's a Death Eater!"  "No!"  "Professor Snape is a Dark Wizard!"  "Knew there was something off about him."  These whispers carried halfway to Severus's teacher's suite.  Dumbledore looked behind him as they went and noticed sadly that most of Slytherin House had followed them to see what would happen to their Head of House, and why he was being tracked down by the Ministry. 

They arrived at Severus's portrait door.  The Minister raised her wand to her own throat and said, "Sonorus _,_ " before her voice carried all the way back to the entrance hall.  "Severus Snape!  By order of the Ministry of Magic, you are to grant us entrance!  You are under arrest on the charge of serving Lord Voldemort as a Loyal Death Eater!"

When there was a delay in the portrait moving, she turned to Kingsley and Rufus and said, "If there is no answer in a few more moments, force your way through."  They watched the portrait for movement, not knowing the panicked state of the suite just on the other side of the portrait. 

* * *

Remus looked at Severus with surprise and uncertainty.  The Severus Snape he used to know would never ask for help like this.  Then again, since Halloween life has been turned upside down for many people, Severus among those for whom it changed most.  "I need to step through." 

Severus nodded.  "Be quick."  The little boy had stirred from the deafening voice that bellowed from the other side of the portrait.  He looked up at Severus with his green eyes, shining in fear, wet with tears.  He reached up a hand and grasped a lock of Severus's black hair, surprising the older man.  The boy had not yet initiated contact until now. 

The green flames flared as Remus stepped through the Floo into the parlor.  "What do you want me to do?" 

Without shifting his dark eyes from the green ones that gazed up into his own, he answered Remus, "Keep him safe.  Do not let Dumbledore or anyone see him.  Do you understand?"  He looked up at Remus searching for confirmation. 

"Of course." 

Severus looked to Remus and began untangling the boy's grip.  "Take him," he said.  Remus reached out to take the boy from Severus.  As soon as his arm was freed, Severus whirled to face the adjoining rooms.  He pointed his wand at the doorway and shouted two commands.  "Accio cradle!  Accio birth certificate!"  Instantly, the items flew through the rooms and to Severus.  He quickly pointed his wand at them again and spoke the incantation, "Reducio," causing both the cradle and the birth certificate to shrink to the size that could easily fit into a pocket.  He gave them to Remus, who put the cradle in the pocket of his trousers and the document into his inner jacket pocket. 

"Professor Snape, this is your final warning!  We demand entrance!" boomed the voice of the Minister. 

Severus looked at Remus again.  "Go!  I will come for him when I can, I swear it."  When Remus stood there for a moment more, Severus prepared to growl at the other man, but then he caught sight of the boy in Remus's arms.  He was silently crying.  It was in that moment that he thought of a similar situation of only a few days ago.  But now, there was no Dark Lord, and there were no tears from the third person in the room.  Just shock.  "Go!"

Remus pinched some of the glittery Floo Powder and spoke just loud enough, "Remus Lupin's Flat!"  The flames turned green and just before he stepped in, the child in his arms screamed a single word. 

"Bear!" 

Severus's breath caught as he understood.  He shouted another command as he pointed to the newly created room.  " _Accio Severus's Bear!_ "  Instantly, the ragged bear that he had tried to give the child before for comfort flew into his waiting hand.  He crossed the short distance to Remus and as he gave the little boy the stuffed animal, he slipped his wand into the inner jacket pocket next to the concealed document. 

Remus's eyes met the other man's.  "Severus-"

Without another word, the professor pushed Remus and his charge into the green flames.  He watched as they spun and vanished. 

The very moment they disappeared there was a deafening blast from his portrait.  Debris flew in every direction into his parlor.  He spun to face the Aurors and the Minister, knowing that he would not fight against them.  He gave Remus his wand for a reason.  He would not let them snap it.  Before the dust even cleared he heard the Minister scream out a single word.  "Incarcerous!"  Severus felt his arms pulled behind his back, and his legs slam together as magical ropes bound his ankles and wrists.  He fell to the floor hard, his breath leaving him in a forceful, involuntary exhale.  More ropes went around his upper arms and chest, and his knees. 

The dust finally cleared and he looked up to see the panicked faces of his colleagues.  Dumbledore stood furthest into the room and was arguing heatedly with the dark-skinned Auror.  McGonagall propped herself up with her hand against the now jagged wall as her other hand was held over her mouth in despair.  Professor Flitwick stood quietly, his eyes shining in compassion as though he knew something the others in the room did not.  Professor Sprout remained in the doorway, not facing the parlor, but trying to encourage the Slytherin students to continue past to their dormitories.  Many were refusing to move and were protesting the Head of Hufflepuff's gentle nudging. 

"Let them see!" shouted Minister Bagnold.  "Let them see their Head of House removed for the traitor that he is." 

It was then that Severus dared to speak.  "Headmaster!  Please!" 

The second Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour, shouted another spell.  "Silencio!"  Severus's voice was stolen from him as he tried to plead to Dumbledore.  He could only now entreat the headmaster and his former Charms professor with his dark eyes, as he desperately tried to beg for help. 

"Shacklebolt!" the Minister shouted.  "Remove him.  We are no longer required here." 

Kingsley Shacklebolt pointedly looked at Dumbledore for a moment more before he lazily flicked his wand in Severus's direction.  "Mobilicorpus."  Severus began to rise into the air, squirming desperately to get free of the bindings. 

Shacklebolt guided Severus through the destroyed entranceway to the suite and into the hallway, where the entire Slytherin House was gathered against the walls.  When they caught a glimpse of their Head of House bound, silenced, and floating above them, some stared in shock, some had tears in their eyes - whether from betrayal or from compassion, and the more daring decided to protest.  "Leave him alone!"  "Let Professor Snape go!"  "No!"  "You can't take away our Head of House!"  Severus could not look at his students, and so he closed his eyes and became still, defeated.  The Minister and the Aurors ignored the uproar amongst the Slytherin students as they nearly paraded their Head of House through the dungeons and into the entrance hall where the rest of the student body was still gathered.  They no longer whispered or theorized.  They simply stared, some happily but some pityingly, at the bound professor being forcibly removed from Hogwarts.  They did not even notice that Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout had followed them back to the entrance hall. 

When the doors finally closed behind the Ministry, Dumbledore spoke quietly to the student body.  Thankfully it was silent in the entrance hall, for the headmaster did not even wish to put the effort into magnifying his voice.  "All students are to report to their dormitories...Immediately."  He turned to Professor Flitwick and addressed him as the sound of hundreds of students heading to their rooms began to grow.  "Would you make sure that the Slytherins are all accounted for in their rooms?" 

Flitwick nodded and headed back towards the dungeons.  "I'll let you know."

Dumbledore then looked to Professor Sprout, "Be sure all of your students are where they should be, Pomona."  She nodded and headed towards the kitchens. 

McGonagall began to walk in the direction of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers, when Dumbledore called to her.  "Minerva!"  She turned to face him, her expression still showing grief.  "Walk with me to my study."  They began on their way to the large gargoyle statue that guarded the chambers of the Headmaster.  They reached the study and Dumbledore and McGonagall entered. 

"Albus, what is to be done about this?" she whispered as she let herself sink into a chair in front of his large desk.

Dumbledore sat himself in his chair and took a deep breath before releasing it and taking in another.  "I must defend him."

McGonagall snorted in disbelief.  "No one - I repeat - no one will ever take your word that-"

"He is innocent?  I know.  He has done some terrible things," Dumbledore mused aloud, as he conjured a steaming cup of tea.  He pointed his wand in her direction and a second cup of tea appeared before her, which she took gratefully.   "Then again, haven't we all at one time or another?" 

McGonagall sipped her tea.  "You must not think that the Ministry will possibly release him.  He may even be in Azkaban tonight!"  She shook her head sharply.  "They do not simply release those accused of being Death Eaters!" 

Before Dumbledore could respond, the door opened and Professor Flitwick entered the study.  "Ah, Filius.  Join us.  Have some tea." 

Flitwick shrunk the second chair opposite Dumbledore's desk to his appropriate height before settling in and accepting the tea.  He then enlarged the chair to its normal height, making him at least on even ground with the other two professors.  "All of Severus's House are in bed.  Some of them threatened to sneak into the Ministry tonight for him." 

"That won't be necessary," Dumbledore said.  "I am trying to devise a way to have him released." 

"If it's even possible," McGonagall mumbled into her tea more than anyone in particular. 

"It is possible, Minerva, if we go about it the...Slytherin way."  Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle in mischief.  There was a brief moment of silence between the three of them where all that could be heard was the quiet sipping of tea. 

"Albus, I do not have any ideas!  You will never get the Ministry to release him." 

Flitwick choked on his tea.  "Well, I am not about to give up on my former student, even if it means I have to spy on the Ministry and release him myself!" 

Dumbledore's eyes darted to Flitwick with a bright spark lit in them.  "Filius!  What did you just say?"

Slightly confused, Flitwick repeated himself.  "That I will not give up on the boy, even if I have to spy on the Ministry and get him out myself."

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes were sparkling.  "Minerva.  Impossible to release someone charged with being a Death Eater?  What if we claim them as a spy for the Light against Voldemort?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment on your way out, if you would. Thanks! ~ RK 
> 
> Chapter Notes: I know that in canon universe, the knowledge that he is a spy is pretty much strictly between Dumbledore and Snape. It can still be taken that way, if you think of it as a simple random excuse Dumbledore comes up with as a way to help him, rather than the rest of the staff thinking Severus actually performs those duties for Dumbledore... That is what I was hoping for with that last bit. Hopefully, it came across and it makes sense to everyone...If not, feel free to let me know. (Even I may not have explained it right in there...) One more thing, according to Harry Potter Wiki, Millicent Bagnold was the Minister for Magic from 1980-1990, while Cornelius Fudge was the Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes during 1981. Fudge was appointed Minister for Magic in 1990.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment on your way out! Thank you so much for reading! ~ RK


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